#Daemon Targaryen x fem reader

[agathaswoman]

rhaenyra roasting overconfident!daemon

rhaenyra: you know, daemon, you are the sun in my life

daemon: *smirks* why? because im smoking hot?

rhaenyra: because it hurts my eyes looking at you

y/n: *spits out their tea*

daemon: *walks out immediately*

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ The dragon and the princess ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: Deep into my hotd era, so feeding you with daddy daemon

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: Your name day was celebrated lavishly and after you and your uncle have a heated conversation, you try to get off when you are finally alone in your bedchamber, or so you thought.

Warnings: Targcest, making out, face riding, oral, vaginal and creampie.

Word count: 1.6k

The great hall was hot and filled with the smell of wine and food. The celebrations for your name day as the eldest child of the king were lavish indeed. After a while the last guest, your dear step mother finally arrived. You hated Alicent with a passion after what she did to you but sadly there was nothing you could do to stop it. You were sitting next to your father King Viserys and were presented with endless gifts. 

Then Tyland Lannister came to the table and presented you with a golden chalice inlaid with rubies and sapphires, a handsome gift, at least- more handsome than him. However before you could thank him the doors opened and none other than your uncle Daemon Targaryen walked in. His hair was short now and he looked ravishing in his new clothes. He started walking towards the table where you were sat and patted Tyland on the back before sitting at the far right side of the table with the queen and the hand in between you. “I- uhm… thank you, my lord for this beautiful gift.” You smiled awkwardly, you were not expecting your uncle to be back but your cheeks flushed at the thought of talking to him again.

“It is not as beautiful as you though, princess.” He smiled, and you cringed hard inside as you looked awkwardly at your father. “Oh- thank you my lord, how very kind of you.” You tried to end it there but it seems Lord Tyland was not finished. “Your Grace I was hoping to ask for the princesses hand in marriage, to bond our houses would strengthen the realm and I would provide your daughter with the strength and support she needs.” He suddenly asked, turning to your father. Your mouth fell slightly open at that and you felt the burning stare of your uncle at the other end of the table. 

“I- uhm… thank you lord Tyland but today is not about my daughters marriage, however I will think on the matter.” He dismissed lord Tyland at that. And he seemed to leave like a dog with its tail between its legs. You could hear your uncle snort and roll your eyes at him. Deciding to end the embarrassment and have some fun, like, one might say, riling up your uncle, you decided to head to the dance floor and dance with a handsome lord of house Tyrell. After a couple more dances with lords from Blackwood to Baratheon to Tully and Frey your sweet uncle finally had enough. He knew exactly what you were doing and he was not having it. 

“Might I have a dance princess.” He asked almost coldly, completely ignoring Lord Colin Frey who was enjoying his dance with you a little too much for Daemon's liking. “Of course uncle. Forgive me my lord. Maybe we could resume our conversation later?” You suggested politely. “Yes princess, that would be delightful.” He gave you a small nod and left to go back to his table, to which Daemon immediately grabbed your hand and waist and danced with you through the crowd. “You really don’t need to do all that to catch my attention.” He whispered into your ear. “What? What are you talking about uncle, me dancing with some lords to please my father?” You replied smugly, you knew how to get under his skin, but tonight you finally wanted to get under his clothes. 

“You know well enough what I’m talking about.” He said, but before you could reply with a witty comment, partners switched again and Daemon left the dance floor back to the table. You danced with some lord again and Daemon's eyes never left yours. After a couple of hours of more dancing and feasting the king finally called it a night and you thanked guests for coming. However much to your disappointment your uncle was nowhere to be found. And you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought he was laying with another woman right now. Feeling tired and having all of this pent up arousal from Daemon you retreated to your bedchamber. After your handmaidens finally finished changing you into your nightgown, your head at last hit the pillow. 

Thoughts of Daemon's lips near your ear infiltrated your mind and your hand started to wander down your breasts toward your stomach. When you reached your wet folds you started to softly caress yourself, with two fingers rubbing your clit you were eagerly trying to get off. To get Daemon out of your mind. “Fuck uncle- please.” You softly moaned at the fantasies your mind was serving you. But you didn’t really know how to get yourself off and it was starting to frustrate you.

“Please what?” A voice said. You shot up in your bed to see your uncle standing in the middle of your bedchamber. “Uncle- I didn’t-” You tried. “Having some trouble getting yourself off my dear niece.” He smirked as he walked over to your bed. “I wasn’t-” “Don’t try to fight it princess, I know all too well what you were doing. And for who. Thinking about your own uncle while fingering yourself is quite disgraceful don’t you think?” He mocked and started to walk towards you. Tears pricked in your eyes from embarrassment and you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Don’t be upset my love, you just needed to get off, didn't you? Did I make you wet for me? Is that it? Do you need your uncle to fuck you proper?” Daemon said while he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. 

His eyes were full of hunger and lust. You glanced at his hard cock shielded by his pants and looked back up at him. All you could do was nod shamefully, knowing that his words soaked the sheets beneath you. And that was all he needed to plant his lips on yours as he crawled on top of you. “You don’t even know how long I’ve wanted to fucking pound you into this bed, fill you with my seed and watch it drip out of your pretty cunt.” He almost sneered against your lips, you moaned in return, even his words could get you off. “Dirty fucking whore, you love that don’t you? Being my own personal fuck toy.” He said as he kissed you again. Now forcing his tongue in your mouth and his hand kneading your breast. He sucked your tongue and bit your lip, after a while your lips swollen and red and breast sore from his kneading. 

“Please uncle, I need you, I need you to fuck me good.” You begged, you knew that’s what he loved. He started kissing your neck in response and after leaving a nice bruise on your collarbone he ripped off your nightgown and laid you down flatter against the pillows behind you. He kissed and licked down your thighs. Opening your legs to reveal your soaking pussy. He licked a long stripe up your folds and started lapping at your clit, making you moan loudly, you were sure that the whole red keep would hear but the pleasure consumed you and you didn’t care. Daemon grabbed your hips and moved you around with him so you sat on his face instead, you immediately rose, afraid of suffocating him. 

“Wait- what if I hurt you-” You said nervously. “You won’t. Now ride my tongue like the dirty little whore you are.” You shuddered at his command and resumed sitting on his face. You felt his tongue enter your hole and you couldn’t help but move fiercer against him. Chasing that high you so badly wanted. “Please yes-!” You moaned as you moved faster, you could feel the vibrations of his groans on your pussy and after mere moments you were cumming all over his tongue. 

Panting hard he rolled you back underneath him. “Now the real fun begins princess.” He whispered against your neck. He removed his own clothes and revealed his already leaking cock. “You're going to take it aren't you.” He said as he kissed your neck again while wrapping a hand around his cock jerking himself off a bit. “Yes. Please I want it all- I want you inside me please-” You pleaded, you clenched around nothing as he slid his tip through your folds multiple times before he finally entered. “Good girl.” You could only moan his name as he started rutting inside you like a dog in heat. 

“Fuck- take it. Take my fucking cock princess. Oh that tight, fucking, cunt around me feels so good, no one has a better cunt then you princess- fuck.” He ranted against your lips, pounding you into the mattress. The slapping of sweaty skin could be heard loudly across your bedchamber and no doubt outside too. “Please uncle its so fucking good, please fill me with your seed- please- please fill me!” You almost screamed. His cock hitting that spongy spot inside you just right, making you think you were seeing all of the seven gods right now.

After a few more thrusts and his thumb rubbing on your clit and you moaned his name as you came, clawing at his back and toes curling as you felt the most amazing pleasure of your life. The clenching of your pussy around his cock finished Daemon as well. With a couple of final hard thrusts he did as was promised and filled your pussy with his seed. “Fuck- princess, oh that’s it. Good fucking girl.” He groaned. Completely spent he laid next to you and pulled you in his arms. 

“What if we get caught.” You asked, calmed from your high reality was setting in. “What if my father finds us or the queen or the hand.” You started to panic a bit. He kissed the top of your head and said, “Then I’ll cut off any head who tries to stop me from marrying you. We will go to Dragon Stone and I’ll make you my wife. And then I’ll get to fuck you every night.”

[lady-phasma]

Caught - Daemon x fem reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, praise k!nk, kinda rough sex, graphic language, cockwarming, unprotected p in v sex, Daddy!Daemon

Summary: PWP literally just 3.1k of smut. Daddy!Daemon caught you up to no good and has to remind you of the rules. a/n: this is technically modern au Daemon. Short hair, modern setting, and modern language, the language gave me a bit more freedom than usual.

You froze as Daemon entered the room. His eyes flew from your surprised face to your hands between your thighs. You started to giggle with embarrassment until you saw his brow furrow. The smile fell from your lips. You weren’t sure if you should pull your fingers out of your dripping cunt or not so you lay still as he walked to the bed.

He watched you closely as he walked across the room. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Already his cock had begun to ache seeing you naked on the bed, pleasuring yourself. However, there was an underlying emotion that amplified that ache. He needed to correct you. Your inability to keep your hands off yourself was sexy, but it made him almost seethe with envy. He had told you before and you had agreed, you would always wait for him.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he sat down on the side of the bed, one eyebrow cocked. You didn’t move your hands but squeezed your thighs closed. Daemon slowly reached one hand to press against your knee, opening your legs. You let him. When he slid his hand down the inside of your thigh you whimpered. Gently, he pulled first one of your hands, then the other away from your cunt. The sound your fingers made sliding out of you was almost embarrassing.

“Gods you are so wet, little one.” Daemon frowned. “Were you close?” His eyes flicked up to yours.

You nodded silently.

“Hmmm,” he mused. Then he gently clasped your wrist and raised your hand to his face. He breathed in deeply before sucking your fingers clean. You moaned and bit your bottom lip to quiet yourself.

“We talked about this,” he began. He laid your hand on the bed and stroked your thigh. “We talked about what would happen if you did this without Daddy?”

“Yes, but,” you started to explain.

“No,” he stated flatly. You tried not to grin. You loved it when he got this look in his eye. He looked possessive, jealous even, but not angry. His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. So how do I teach you this lesson so you will remember, hmm?” You knew it was a rhetorical question. Daemon stood up, slid his tie out of his collar, and walked to his desk. You watched, motionless, as he shuffled papers and books, silenced his phone, tossed his tie over the back of the chair, and finally sat down.

You subconsciously licked your lips as Daemon’s hands went to his zipper. He unfastened his pants and freed his cock. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but every part of your body tingled when you saw it. It was thick and gorgeous and you thought you could see the faintest pearl of precum leaking from the tip. He stroked slowly, watching himself, ignoring you. It felt as if minutes turned into hours before he looked up at you. He almost grinned at the lascivious expression on your face. He paused and you couldn’t help but stare at his twitching cock.

“Come here,” Daemon said. You rose form the bed, legs shaking, and you felt heat rush to your core. Walking toward him naked was exhilarating. Daemon patted his thighs as you approached. It was patronizing, but it made you smile nonetheless. You eyed his lap briefly and tried to guess the position he wanted you in. You began to move forward, but he saw the perplexed look on your face and caught your hips in his hands. He positioned you where he wanted you. His strong hands gently guided you through the awkward motion of sitting on his lap with your back to his chest. His hold on your hips made you feel a bit more stable during the wobbly affair. Then, very quietly, he whispered in your ear.

“You’re going to keep my cock warm, little one. You’re going to be as still as a statue and as quiet as a mouse. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you answered and swallowed dryly.

“Now, lift that lovely ass,” he said with a smile in his voice. Pressing down on the arms of the chair, your feet pressed on top of his shoes for leverage, you raised up as far as you could. His hand slipped under your ass and through your wetness. You gasped and your thighs shook. His fingers were gone almost immediately. You heard him stroke his cock and then you felt him at your entrance. Slowly you began to lower yourself, with his hands guiding you again. Your body felt like it had been struck by lightening and your head spun with excitement. This was a punishment? You exhaled as you settled into Daemon’s lap, his cock fully buried inside you.

“Comfortable?” he asked. You nodded trying to move only your head. Your arms and legs felt stiff. Frankly, you were still concerned with falling off. You giggled before you realized you were going to. Your hand flew to your mouth and you did wobble. Daemon held you steady and laughed under his breath.

Finally, he pulled you toward him, your back pressed against his chest and you felt yourself begin to relax. Your hands fell from the arms of the chair to rest on your thighs. You let your feet slide off his shoes, allowing him to support you completely. This also made his cock go the slightest bit deeper. You whimpered and tried to adjust your hips. His fingers dug into them, stopping you. You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, leaning back against Daemon’s chest. Every breath, every movement was bliss. As he settled, his cock moved inside you. As he breathed, you moved up and down with his chest. Each small movement echoed in your cunt. You thought if being this connected to him were punishment you could get into “trouble” more often.

“Hand those to me.” Daemon startled you when he spoke. You blinked and failed to understand for a moment. Then you leaned forward for the papers and gasped. Gingerly you handed them to Daemon. You shifted to the side slightly and tried to rest against him again. But the movement caused you to clench and Daemon hissed air through his teeth. You grimaced a little as you began to understand… a bit like trying to balance on one foot and not fall, you weren’t sure how long you could do this. To your amazement, however, Daemon began to read as if you weren’t there. You clenched around his cock involuntarily. He was distracting himself and you were what? Not supposed to think about how good it felt to be so deeply connected to him? Every time you thought of it you twitched or tensed up. You crossed your arms across your breasts and huffed. You couldn’t lay your head on his shoulder, you couldn’t wiggle, you could only sit.

“Yes?” Daemon asked.

“Well,” you thought for a moment. “What am I supposed to do?” You heard the whine in your voice and cringed. You tightened your arms across your chest.

“Think about your actions,” Daemon chuckled as he spoke and resumed reading. His laugh was infuriating. You could have screamed, but more than that you wanted to rock your hips. You needed to hear him moan and say your name. Instead you pouted. Trying not to think about your wetness dripping down around his cock, soaking his pants, you exhaled. When you turned your head to look at Daemon he was actually reading! You smirked as you wiggled your ass slightly and he didn’t even glance up. You turned your attention to the room, looking for anything to distract you. But the harder you tried to not think about his cock the larger it seemed to grow in your thoughts. You shifted a few times, tried to alleviate the constant, aching need but nothing worked. The next ten minutes were agonizing. It could have been 30 minutes for all you knew. This frustrating pleasure made it impossible for you to judge.

When Daemon finally lowered his papers, your head felt foggy with arousal. You blinked trying to clear the cobwebs from your mind. He slowly began to lean forward and you steadied yourself by gripping his thighs. He snaked one hand around your side to your belly to hold you still and tossed the the documents onto the desk. They slid and nearly scattered, but Daemon didn’t seem to care. He ran his hand along the top of your thigh. His fingertips came precariously close to your lips and you jumped. He chuckled that low, infuriating laugh again.

“How do you feel, baby girl? Do you think you can remember our rules now?” His hand continued traveling up your body until he was cupping your breast. He languidly passed his thumb over your nipple. The new sensation felt so good that it was almost painful. It jolted you out of your haze.

“Yes, Sir,” you mumbled. “I will remember. But please, Daemon.” You didn’t expect to beg. “Please.” Your cunt tightened around him as you spoke.

“Soon,” he whispered. “Soon.” There was a slight tone of pride in his voice. You weren’t sure how you knew that from one word but you couldn't think about it for long. His hand on your belly began to slide down. Two of his fingers brushed the top of your cleft and you bucked your hips. You tried, at least. His hand held you quite still. But your movement had elicited a small hmm from him. That sound produced a fresh wave of wetness to flood your aching cunt.

“You did so well,” he spoke near your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “You kept my cock perfectly warm. Do you want your reward?”

“Yes, please,” you whined again. You fisted your hands into the fabric of his pants. Simultaneously impatient and anxious, you had rarely been this overstimulated.

“Are you going to be a good girl from now on?” Daemon smirked. He was dragging it out, still enjoying your blissful distress.

“Oh yes, god yes!” You tried to move your hips again and this time he let you. Only he followed the movement with his hand and slid two fingers over your clit. You let out a groan that sounded as if it came from someone else. You clamped your teeth down on the sound as Daemon circled your clit with his fingertips.

“Damn,” he mumbled under his breath. “That’s it, baby girl.” You were moving your hips slightly, clutching and unclutching his pants with the same rhythm. It was slow and almost imperceptible. Daemon kissed your shoulder, squeezed your breast, then rested his forehead in the curve of your neck, never stopping the motion of his fingers. You felt the familiar coiling in your core, the signal of the beginning of your orgasm, and reached your hand behind you to slide your fingers into Daemon’s hair. You riffled through his short hair and pressed him harder against you. He groaned and nuzzled deeper into your neck. His cock seemed to throb inside you. The sensations were overwhelming. You raked your nails across his scalp and breathed out his name. Without warning, he stopped and pulled his fingers away. You arched your back trying to chase them. He straightened and shook your hand from his head.

He moved both hands to your hips and dug his fingers into your flesh. He began to guide you to lift your hips but you shook your head “no.” He ignored this protest and start to move you himself. You felt dizzy, off balance, and you wanted nothing more than for his cock to stay exactly where it was. But you realized this would be easier and faster if you worked with him. Begrudgingly and gingerly, you placed your hands on the arms of the chair once more. The feeling of separation was immediate and intense. You squeezed your eyes shut. Daemon, thankfully, still held your hips as you tried to stand on legs that should not have been so shaky.

As Daemon began to lean forward you swayed and reached out to steady yourself on the desk. You felt him shift behind you and his legs pressed yours wider. He still held you by your hips but he leaned forward and kissed your lower back. He trailed kisses down to the top of your ass. You let out a small moan as he kissed the dimples at the base of your spine and then he sighed. His breath on your ass made you squirm. Every sensation was like a shock to your brain.

In one swift movement, Daemon stood behind you. He pressed you forward slightly but didn’t let go of you until your hands were firmly planted on the desk. You were almost bent over completely, arms laying on the desktop. Daemon smoothed a hand up your back, signaling you to lean further forward. You did so, forehead nearly resting on the surface. You heard him unbuckling his belt and sliding fabric against skin. Your cunt clenched on nothing purely from anticipation. He nudged your feet further apart with the toe of his shoe. You gasped as he slid his fingers through your slick, messy cunt. He drug them slowly back over your clit, all the way back to your ass and then pulled his hand away. You pressed your hips back toward him, begging without words.

“You want my cock back in that needy little hole?” He growled the question as he stroked his cock once, twice, then positioned himself between your thighs. “Well?”

���Yes,” you tried to answer but it came out in a croak. You mouth was a desert. You cleared your throat. “Yes, Daddy.”

He hummed a short approval as he rested his hands on your ass. His cock began to slide inside you so slowly that you could barely breathe. You resisted the urge to push back toward him with every ounce of your will power. Daemon moved forward slightly but also used his thumbs to hold your ass cheeks apart. The thought of him watching his cock slide into you, imagining the way his bottom lip would be caught between his teeth, forced you to finally collapse onto the desk.

“Please,” you started. “Fuck, Daemon, please, I can’t.” Your pleading sped him up, but only slightly. The only thing that stopped you from doing it yourself, pressing your hips back into his, was the delicious sound he was making. It was a throaty hum mixed with a sucking of air through his teeth. When he was finally balls deep inside you again, he moved his hands forward, onto your hips again.

“You feel so good,” he said under his breath. The words made you squirm against him and clench around him. He began long, slow strokes that drove you crazy, gradually picking up speed. Each thrust pushed you forward until your breasts were pressed against the papers on the desk. You barely held yourself upright, your legs felt as if they would give up at any moment. You were unsure if there were words in the incoherent moaning coming from your mouth as Daemon seemed to drag out each stroke.

“That’s my girl,” he said with a hard thrust. Then he started to move faster, his strokes growing shorter. You felt one of his hands slide forward and tensed around him in anticipation. He let out a breathy fuck as he pushed through the tightening of your muscles. When his fingers grazed your clit you bucked away from his hand. His fingers found you regardless.

“You can take it. You have to if you want to come,” he said icily. You whimpered as he stroked your clit in time with the thrusts of his cock. “I want you to cum on my cock like the good slut I know you are.”

His voice, his words, flipped a switch inside you. The coiled, aching tightness in your core released. Waves of pleasure emanated from your cunt. Your limbs felt cold and heavy but you barely noticed.

“Fuck.” You panted and moaned, pressing the side of your face onto the desk. “Yes, Daddy. Oh fuck yes.” You words trailed off into mumbled pleading and sounds of agreement. His fingers continued their movement and your hips jerked with each pass. You were too cock drunk to beg him to stop. Your orgasm didn’t crest and break but stayed in this tight, hot moment until you thought you might pass out.

“You can have your reward now, baby girl,” Daemon punctuated each word with a thrust as he began to pound into you. You no longer moaned, no longer made any sound. Your breathing was shallow and harsh. You reached your hands out to find purchase, to brace yourself and only succeeded in knocking things off the desk. Daemon increased the pressure on your clit and you came undone. You closed your eyes and cried out his name. Begging, pleading, but not for him to stop. You begged for his cum and he gave you what you needed. He moved his hand from between your legs. He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed into you one final time. His cum was a warm rush between you. He ground his hips against your ass. He groaned and relaxed his grip on your neck.

Daemon leaned forward, out of breath, and kissed your shoulder. He stroked your shoulder blade, your side, and slid his hand under your stomach. You were barely able to follow his lead. The pressure of his hand guided you to prop yourself up on the desk. You huffed out a small chuckle at your predicament. Before you were entirely prepared, he pulled back slowly. Your eyelids fluttered when his cock left you. The feeling of what he left behind was divine. You tried to catch your breath.

You felt his hand on you, resting on your side. You straightened up as he began to turn you toward him. He caught your mouth with his before you could face him. He petted and stroked, one hand on your side, pressing you into him, one hand on your stomach and hips. He pulled back and looked into your eyes. The corner of his mouth turned up and the pride you saw in his face made your chest feel as if it would burst. He barely took his hands off of you as he sat down, keeping you on your feet. Then he helped you onto his lap once more. Sitting across his lap, you curled into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You inhaled the smell of his shirt and became dimly aware that he had somehow not taken it off. You smiled and closed your eyes as he kissed the top of your head.

Masterlist Daemon masterlist

[gxthicwxrm]

Fire Like A Targaryen Pt. 2

Pairing: Daemon Targryen x Fem!reader

Summary: the aftermath of the attack on your family

Warning: Angst, fighting, cursing, mentions of child death

Masterlist - Part One

---

"Where were you, Daemon?" You say his name like a curse. Gritted teeth, you circle your disheveled husband, who sits at the end of your bed. His head leans into his hands before running them through his hair to look at you.

"My love, I am so sorry-" He starts, reaching out to you before you smack away his hand.

"NO! WHERE the FUCK were you when a man tried TO KILL OUR DAUGHTER?! Huh? This blade almost killed both of your children, and you can't tell me the truth? You are a coward, Daemon Targaryen." Tears burn down your face as you throw your arms to your side, tossing the bloodied dagger onto the white sheets while he stands, stepping towards you. His cheek, damp with tears, glistens in the glow of the fireplace beside you.

"Tell me where you were. Please, Daemon. You owe it to me to tell me the truth." You let him grab your hands as you look up at him, looking for honesty in his blue eyes.

"I was with Rhaenyra." Everything you feared was confirmed at this moment as your heart stills. Dropping his hands, you slowly step away from him before turning to face the wall, feeling the heat against your face from the fireplace as a fire inside your soul goes ablaze. Your world collapsed as you lay between a blade and your child, and your husband, the man who swore to you, made a vow to you, was getting his dick wet. 'Why are you surprised?' A nagging voice echoes in your head, your voice.' You knew the man you married.' Blame creeps into your bones before a realization takes hold.

"Of course you were. Of course, only you would bury yourself in another woman as your two children and wife were brutally attacked. What is wrong with you?." You snarl, turning towards Daemon. He is speechless, with his arms stretched out to you, making you scoff.

"I have sacrificed so much for this Targaryen name. I have balled up and thrown my pride and dignity out the window for the sake of this family. I have shed blood for this family. I have KILLED FOR MY FAMILY. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE BUT FUCKED A WHORE?" Screaming, you throw a glass vase from the table to your left, narrowly missing his head as he dodges it.

"Enough! Stop this! You speak of sacrifice! Huh? I have killed many to protect this family. Blood doesn't stop covering my hands, Y/N. Every day I go to battle, I think of this family. I think of my daughter. Of my wife." He reaches for you, but you smack him away. Luckily, he pulls back and resorts to picking at his cuticles. His outburst caught you off guard, as he had been silent for the rest of this argument. Unknowing what to say next, you walk away from him, heading towards the door.

"I wasn't fucking her." He whispers, making you abruptly stop before turning to him.

"What?" The shock was clear on your face as you swore you heard him wrong. "What did you just say?"

"I wasn't having sex with Rhaenyra when you were…when the two of you were…I wasn't fucking her. I wanted you to know that." He sits on the bed's footboard, pushing his hair out of his face.

"Then what were you doing with her? Making fucking quilts?" You spat, unable to believe the words he was saying. He's lied to you over and over about this same woman. "So you deny being with her after admitting you were? Liar." You shake your head, mumbling the last part.

"I was leaving her." You scoff at his words. "Please listen to me. I wanted to break it off with her. I have been unfaithful to you and our family and wanted to make it right. I wanted you and Alys and our family. Not her. I swear to every God that exists and doesn't, my love. I am so sorry I wasn't here to protect you, Alys, and our son. I have failed our family too many times; I know this. Just please allow me a second chance. A chance to be the man our family deserves." You've found yourself moved to his side, sitting on the bed. His words moved you, but doubt still rang in your head.

"How do I know this isn't another lie? How do I know you are truly over her?" You ask, defeated, as your anger leaves your body and tears fill your eyes.

"If it helps, you can ask her yourself. She will not lie to you. She never has." His words were correct, seeing how Rhaenyra was the one who told you about their affair. "But I will spend every day of my life proving it to you until my last breath." He declares as you silently take in his words.

After a moment of silence, you have decided your plan of action.

"I will have my own room." You finally say, breaking the crushing silence. To your side, you see him turn to look at you as you stare straight ahead.

"Y/N, pleas-,"

"Let me finish. I will have my own room until I can trust you again. Alys can choose which room she'd like to stay in if she doesn't go between them. I can't pretend this didn't happen and go back to normal, not overnight. I need time." You state, nodding your head in satisfaction before finally turning to him. His features look broken in the light illuminating the fireplace. Tear streaks mark his face as you fight to reach to brush them away but curl your hand to stop yourself. He takes in your features, deciding how serious you are before deciding not to push anymore.

"How much time?" Daemon finally says after a moment of silence. Without hesitation, you answer him.

"As much time as it takes to forget the images of you with her, Daemon. I want to forgive you for our family, our daughter, and me. But I need time. I'll stay here tonight but find a room for myself tomorrow."

"Okay." He says with a sad sigh.

Despite how hard you fought against doing this, you found yourself knocking on the dark wooden door. Once the door swings open, it reveals the silver-haired heir to the throne. Her glossy hair is messy and sticking out in tendrils as she uses the door to cover her nightgown.

"Y/N. Hello. This isn't the best time this moment-"

"Are you and Daemon done?" You throw the words at her, but she barely flinches; barely. Her eyes give away her surprise at your confrontation.

"Uhm, let me get dressed, and I'll come out." She goes to close the door, but your hand stops the wood.

"No. You have been sleeping with a married man, your uncle." You lower your voice at the last part. "You owe me this. Are you still seeing him? I could care less about status and the throne. This is my family. Answer the damn question." You growl through gritted teeth, grinding them so hard you thought they were crushing into powder. Rhaenyra almost looks scared for a second before she blinks it away, standing straighter before looking into your eyes.

"He broke it off with me. I won't lie. I didn't take it well at first. But we aren't meant for each other. It was a mistake. For both of us. He told me it will be one of his biggest regrets for not bonding with you and leaning into me." Her words light a different rage in you as you hold back from grabbing her. With a deep breath, you ask your final question.

"When did he break it off?"

"The night of the attack on you and your daughter. He was leaving the room as the guards met him in the hall and alerted him." She says, still hovering behind the door when someone shuffles in, making her look into the room before turning back to you.

"I am sorry, Y/N. As a woman, as family, I should've told you about the affair. I should've ended it. Nothing I say will take my actions back, but it is one of my biggest regrets too." With that, turn away from her halls before returning to your chambers, where your daughter lies in your bed. Blowing the candle out, you lay beside her before pulling the covers over you and closing your eyes to let sleep take hold.

part three coming soon!

[rhaenyrathecruell]

Please daemon please

Please aegon please

[howyouloveyourdragon]

Remnants

pronouns: she/her warnings: smut, use of the word ‘whore’, angst, disease, character death, fluff, infidelity, slowburn, classism at first (daemon is a shit) summary: They say that you never forget your first love but the vultures are prey to weakness and intend to infiltrate Daemon’s own desires to preserve his adere riñus (slippery girl). Some say the woman will forever remain in his conscience, guiding his bloodied sword and singing sweet lost lullabies to lay his rest. For it has been too long since the volatile dragon slept peaceful. A prince with more gold than he can keep. A prince who can demand whatever he wishes and command any army. And yet all he is left with…All he is left with are the remnants of her which he swore to cherish as religiously as he would an idol. A/N: reader has dark hair for a plot point to work but i think you can still ignore it if you want to :) dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 6,797

There is nothing like a sunset that is more comforting to him and yet his comfort is limited. How he stares at the strewn stars like figments of grace and kind. How he stares each as though in the eye and recounts sonnets as they emit. How he begs and pleads for the Gods to last the warmth of sunlight just a little longer each time. And each time it fades. Each time his eyes grasp any trace of her to sew back into his mind after it has been torn from him with viscous delight. He should have known. The Gods do not listen to begging. Not even from Crown Princes. No matter how many bottles he shatters in the heat of his dreams. He likes to think that their love was red and as flowing as his ever-heating dragon’s blood. A Syrax in its own right. But there was no Goddess of ecstasy blessing them. No. It was a curse of bluebells and belonging to that of Gaelithox, surely to punish him for his foolishness. He looks up at the sky. The dark array of black and blue. Of silver specks and promising folds of purple. There is nothing like a sunrise better to send the Rogue Prince into a spiel of decay and sickness. The absurd golden bonds squeezing out another day like an artist with their last inch of oils. The crawling brightness that comes to threaten the moon. Abysmal lies sung to him as his brother attempts to push him into seeing beauty in all that inductees his churning stomach. 

He wills the flowers to wither. 

It was under the rising sun that Daemon had stumbled and forced his way out of the obnoxious hooting Street of Silk. Perhaps he had been desiring only ale or the rancid smell of sweat to intoxicate him. At just two and twenty, he had been visiting the volatile heap of taverns and brothels for the past eight years. It was religious in his dark desires. For dragons did not obey the whims of men and Daemon did not obey the whims of his brother nor father. And certainly not the whims of his wife. His nose turns up at the thought. Marriage would not contain him like they desired and yet still, he receives the constant demands to visit her. Of course he only intends to sink them in water until soft enough to shred, rejecting their presence all together. It would be easier to burn them but he does not think them worthy of his flame. His begrudging circle had even begun threatening to hail her to the Red Keep. To keep her in his presence all torturous times of the day. He knows his mother wouldn’t have let this happen, surely. Never would she sell him like prize cattle just to tame him. He is a dragon does not fuck plain featured sheep, he burns them but he would not devour them like his brother wished. His tastes were precise and he would not settle. He is a prince. He deserves nothing less than a woman matching his silver strands. Which is what he thinks of as he stumbles through the dark night struck streets, hopefully back to the castle gates at least. He despised people seeing him in such a state but he could usually hold his liquor better than tonight. And he assures himself that all will be well…until his cloak catches on a hook and he crashes to the floor in a surge of red blurred vision. 

He blinks awake the next morrow with a pounding headache the size of Caraxes. A wince cracks at his muscles. Daemon grunts, a rough sting along his left cheekbone. A blur of dark hair and feminine presence has him assuming he had fallen asleep in the whorehouse again but instead his eyes flit across the plain room, brows pinching at the plain room. It is unfamiliar, he realises. His lips part in time for a resounding click of the unknown woman's fingers to snap him into alert. Anger swells in his chest but his limbs are weakened with exhaustion and ale. His sharp eyes choose to narrow instead as quickly as she takes a step. His brain swishes with questions. Where is he, why is he here and most importantly, who is this already insufferable cunt of a peasant? "You." He sneers, clicking his own fingers but she ignores him, returning to a small room he presumes to be a...kitchen? It is small and brown and littered with pans, some empty, some filled. "Tell me, who are you?" It is a demand. They both know it is a demand and yet it goes ignored. Rage firms his brittle state. "Answer your prince!" He stands on slightly shaky legs, uncaring to his indecent layer of clothing, or rather, lack of. His tunic...Where is his tunic? It isn't panic that raises the bile but it is discomfort. The odd woman merely chuckles at him. Anger flares once more. Daemon's swift hand snaps to his scabbard only to find it empty. "Relax, your highness," He doesn't like the mocking lilt seeping from her untrustworthy tongue. "it will be returned to you, I merely made certain you would not awaken with a missing appendage." His face scowls petulantly at her and he takes a step forward. 

Daemon builds up his broad shoulders to square though he is not entirely a man full-grown yet and his boyish features attempt to harden. Intimidation is a powerful tool he knows. "You will hand me my possessions and I will take leave far from your slums or I will–" She spins around, facing him not with fear or mal-intent but with curiosity. Her sly smirk is the first thing he notices alongside her narrowed fox-like eyes. “Or what?” She returns, impishly .His mouth hangs. She had been washing one of her thick pans but now she has tucked the pathetic wet towel into her small apron and folds her arms. The pan is left forgotten on the side after a loud clang. She raises her brows. “Or what, your highness?” She repeats as though he is nothing more than the village idiot or town fool. Begrudgingly he has never felt more like a child, not even after marrying the bronze bitch. Daemon’s mouth moves but nothing comes out. She snorts. “Will you harm a sweet village girl? Add blood to your taxes? Ah, apologies, my lord, you are no foe of such demands, you are the taker.” The snide doesn’t pass him. “No girl is of worth to a Dragon.” He says, finally regaining composure. She doesn’t cower, she sneers. “In that we can agree.” Her voice, once mellifluous and playful, now turns cold. “Except the ones fucking dragons and I assure you, I have no intentions.” He swallows, noticing just how close they have approached once the hit of warm breath fans over his mouth which towers just above her. He ignores when his eyes flicker to her wet lips. How can a peasant look so nourished? 

Daemon may ignore it but the peasant does not, her lips slowly curling upward smugly. She hums as she takes in his dilated pupils now wielding more than just rage. Slowly, her calloused hand begins to dip into her apron pocket. In a flash, his palm snatches her wrist and rips it out of reach. She blinks, slightly disoriented, but then raises her brows comically. “Do you not wish me to return your sword, my lord?” She lilts, Daemon’s face softens. “I am your prince, not your lord.” He snarls. Again, her sickening chuckles lift in the stale air. “You are an ingrate that we are all in service to, my prince. Do you wish for your dagger or not?” He hesitates. Who is to determine that she is not attempting to fool him? That she will not snipe his weapon and slice it through his throat; would she leave him bleeding on her floor or scatter him amongst the mongrels of flea bottom? Daemon casts his eyes at her apron. She sighs, allowing his thick fingers to swipe through the various utensils stashed away. The prince grunts when he makes contact with a blade, groaning behind his taut lips. He slides it out once he finds the hilt and dances it between his fingers like a peacock presents its feathers. A smirk twitches. 

The peasant girl sighs, unamused as he watches the shining steel. “Do you intend to frolic through the streets and freeze?” She asks with a thin layer of mocking. His eyes narrow on the blade. “No,” He articulates in a frozen phrase. “You will lead me to the garments you have stolen from me and in return I shall allow your pitiful life to remain.” It isn’t a chuckle that escapes her this time but instead a snort. His nose wrinkles at the unabashed noise. “Will I?” She returns, biting the inside of her cheek. Daemon lets a glower settle, breath heaving at the disrespect. He clenches his jaw. “You will or you will taste your own blood.” Daemon spouts the words, attempting to poison her flesh, he can already imagine the boils that would litter her soft skin. The peasant merely winks. “It wouldn’t be for the first time but I am afraid that it would be in your best interests that you stay a moment more.” She sighs as though the fact physically pains her. A hand sneaks behind her back, which connects against the rough counter edge, and produces a small wooden bowl, heat emitting in steam from the top. “Would you not prefer to break your fast before you leave? A weak prince is not a wise one.” 

He leans down, sneering. “I am not weak.” She leans up at him and tilts her head. “Then how do you know I was talking about you?” She pushes the strange broth to his chest and slips past him once his confusion lessens his hold on her other wrist. His head snaps to face her figure again. “You are an insinuating little tart.” Daemon comments but much less interrogative than before. He eyes the broth cautiously as he takes a seat at her short stocky table. His legs plead for freedom under the trapment. He ignores them. The girl glances him over and he can feel the scrutiny piercing his skin, ready to seep inside. Begrudgingly, the heir seats himself at the small table of her home and huffs like a petulant child.  The threat of judgement crawls like an insect over his tense muscles, it feels like twenty-thousand little cockroaches are bumping one another from the inside of his skin. It begs to clamber into the strange peasant instead, what does a peasant fair against a prince? She must know that it would be further than a sin to place judgement on a Targaryen prince while she is nothing more than a lowly film of dirt atop his shoe; filth he is desperately trying to scrape off until his hands are raw and bloody. 

His eyes take this moment to rake over and through her as she stumbles around the much too small hobble. Her hair reminds him of toiled waves, crashing messily and unkempt–even though it is tied up–against the harsh wind sneaking through her window. Her apron is dirtied and there is flour on her face. She looks every inch the commoner he despises. Because she thinks she’s better than him, he’s sure, he can see it in her smugness, her eagerness to keep him dependent on her already. She has a vile brown dress beneath it, his skin itches just looking at the rough worn-in cloth. The prince’s eyes trail to her bare feet, he winces but attempts to ignore it, glancing over the muddy wet end to the dress. He lets a sigh release and shakes his head, inspecting the rest of the abode. Just looking at her made him long to cleanse himself. Daemon’s nose turns up at the sight of a myriad of blue wilting flowers in the corner, well he supposes to her it is reminiscent of a myriad. Her. Why is it her mind, her thoughts, that he wants to explore like the depths of the great sea he has always been kept from? Then his eye catches on the deep red cloth that drapes along a lone wooden chair. His eyes narrow. Is it stolen? She doesn’t look as though she could afford such vibrancy. Or perhaps she is a whore and it was gifted by a client. That must be it. She’s a whore. Daemon clicks his tongue and looks down at the half-eaten broth. He stirs at the odd liquid, raising the too large spoon and pouring the broth back in the bowl before dipping it back in again. It takes all his willpower to stuff it into his cheeks and let it play on his tongue. 

He swishes it across his taste buds. Daemon wants it to be foul, he wants it to reek of vomit-inducing grossness. It is a childish word but he is running out of insults. His hope also falls flat because for some reason it tastes good. It tastes better than any soup the high paid cooks have ever offered him, it tastes almost better than any rich meal he’s consumed. His eyes narrow. Is she a witch? Is this set to bewitch him or send him into sleep? No, it makes him feel much too energised. Then is it to gain his favour? Constituted to trick his submission? She will not achieve it, he refuses. He finishes the lukewarm meal while taking his time. He watches her hum and shimmy about the room, searching for something he does not know. He scans her curiously. “My garments.” He states in demand, standing and approaching her swiftly. She doesn’t react, doesn’t even stop humming. She moves about a few thick books, all handwritten and all with olden pages–yellow with use. 

His fist rests sideways against the presumably oak bookcase so he can lean over her, forearm following suit. He wants it to reflect dominance but instead it twists his gut and warms his lower stomach. “You have something that belongs to me,” Daemon purrs. His eyes narrow. His free palm outstretches. “I want it back.” “I have more than one thing, milord.” The snark drips from her tongue with charisma he loathes. His jaw clenches at the forced display. “Then return them and I shall return this.” Her eyes snap up to him and frown at the sealed letter in his grasp. Daemon can see as the panic swells and tenses her muscles, he can see as she takes in an inhale sharper than Dark Sister, he can see as her eyes widen because Daemon is not merely a swordsman and soon-warrior; Daemon Targaryen is also an observer. The peasant girl swallows. “Very well.” She chokes out and he finds himself surprised to have won this game of cat and mouse. Of dragon and sheep. Almost disappointed. The prince nods and steps back but as she prepares to swipe it from his hands and pulls it back with a visibly pensive expression. “I will give it to you once you return my possessions.” Eyes meet and again, his gut twists. She tilts her head, guard seemingly lowered. “How curious,” She breathes out. Daemon’s brows knit. “What?” He questions. “You said possessions not belongings. Most would use the latter.” 

When he eventually does return to the castle, fully clothed and prepared to sleep off the remainder of his disturbed night, He keeps a firm stance and intends to forget the strange day so far but his mind circles the events like a fly. Daemon growls as he shrugs off his shirt to replace it with one of pure white and tosses the prior into a drawer. He roughly grasps a red doublet in his hands and tugs it over. His breath comes out in grunts and curses until he is redressed. It is the same shade as the peasant girl’s cloth, of course it is. It was his favourite until today and now childishly, it feels tainted by the resurging memories of humiliation being sewn inside. His nose scrunches up, a grotesque taste rubbing against his tongue as he recalls one incident in particular. The prince, a man to be respected, can visualise as he was shoved to a thin mattress and tossed up the mix of bile and sickness from his stomach. All. Over. Her. Floorboards. Daemon winces and shakes his head, trying to shake the memory into the deepest depths of his subconscious, never to be seen again. He sighs and turns around, pausing when a slight fluttering falls as soft as a petal from his trouser. He frowns and peers down at the paper. There sits a thin parchment, not unlike the letter he had returned to the peasant girl. This one however is in cursive words much more eloquent than the past one and written in a phrasing he’s unsure of. He looks at the wax seal this time. It’s blue and the paper around it is curled. Daemon glances over the creases. Perhaps his business is not yet forgoing. 

A moon passes before he finally returns through the winding streets, trying to recall the pattern in which he returned home, backward. Daemon finds himself humming a tune to which he should not be familiar with but it is the only thing that consumes his mind as he passes through the Street of Flour. Finally, he reaches a small doorway and raps at it. No one answers to which he sighs and takes a step back, peeking through the opening of his hooded cloak at the abundance of civilians. Daemon’s eyes dart amidst the unknown area and his feet follow, investigating a series of yells and glances one last time at the door. The street is in uneven bumps and the people there are clumped together as they holler and whistle. Daemon halts his tune and uses his substantial height to attempt to see over the large mass of bodies. He can barely make out the sight of steam and two large wooden stands. The hollers burst through his ears like pellets of rain, forceful and punishing as a storm. 

Then a familiar voice is raised above the others, a mock resounding in his ears but with the playfulness and wit of a friend. His violet eyes snap up to find the woman haunting him. She’s laughing raucously, obnoxious and loud. Daemon’s lips slightly twitch at the teeth she bares. Again, his gut stirs. The heat becomes smothering but that doesn't stop him in his pursuit in finding the peasant girl who he now sees tossing around a pan filled with water and meat. From the brief glances he can snatch up, she’s almost finished while a man beside her is kneading a similar meat lined in fresh pink. Daemon pulls his lips taut, tensing as he watches the show. His little peasant seems to be enjoying herself. Witch, he thinks briefly but she doesn’t look like a witch and nor does she particularly sound like one. Are witches not supposed to be tantalising and hibernate an illusion of raw sex? Of primal appeal to tempt him? She doesn’t appear to be trying very hard. The flour is gone from her face now, he notes, but in its place lays a curved slice, colour as deep as that of Dornish wine. If she is a witch, would she not surely cover it? The hiss of her heated pan hisses throughout the street and Daemon finds himself surprised that no one has stolen from the small bag of coins in the centre. 

A cacophony of enjoyment and not one has a trail of bitterness. He watches as the girl glides a hand around her neck to push back the hair escaping its tight wrap atop her head. Only joy amongst the miserable. Perhaps that should worry him but he is too enthralled in the display. The woman’s hair is tied high again but much clearer than the moon prior–the day he last saw her. She is still wearing the same rags but this time that revolting red cloth is wrapped around her shoulders like a shaul. Not a whore either then. A whore would not be parading her squeals for free and nor would she wish to wear rags when surely many men had solicited them. So she is not a witch and not a whore and yet he finds himself stalking after her presence like an injured pup. Daemon growls at the very thought. He is a prince. How many times must he remind himself? Princes do not chase after strange peasant girls. The scolding floats through the wind when the peasant girl cheers and hurls the pan down on the wooden market stand. Her opponent groans half-heartedly, grinning like a mad man as he stretches out his arms and embraces the girl, one rough large hand resting to cup the back of her head and his other reaching to slap her back like Daemon has seen other knights behave. But this is not a knight, this is a peasant. The fact twitches his nose in distaste. But so is she. A voice whispers in his ear, he swats it away, watching as the surrounding peasants cheer. 

Daemon watches as the children let their little hands grasp the food and jump in bubbles of excitement. If he had a warmer heart, he may have found the sight sweet. But he does not, he has a mission to complete. He approaches the peasant girl with sly steps but she has already noticed him, how, he does not know. He steps behind her and opens his mouth but she beats him to it. “My prince,” She speaks with a burning smugness he doesn’t have to look at to be aware of. Against his better judgement, a sly smirk spreads across his pale lips. “You remembered.” He quips to which she hums in approval and folds her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately I did.” Daemon shifts in intrigue. He hesitates for the first sun of his existence. “I almost thought you wouldn’t bring it back.” She comments, amusement slipping in between her teeth. A snicker passes his mouth, a mouth rarely barred. “I had not imagined you would need use of such a thing left so easily misplaced.” Daemon’s hot words burrow through her ear, as determined as their wielder. She turns her head, baring her soft neck and piercing eyes to look up into his. The heir’s breath hitches. 

“I misplaced nothing, my prince.” The peasant purrs boldly. The intimacy of a whisper drips from her like an aphrodisiac. Daemon grins. “Is it my name or merely my title that you know of?” He chuckles, a confident hand reaching wind at her waist. Her own hand cups it. “Of course, my Prince Daemon Targaryen.” He swallows and a shuddered chill draws down his back. “Might you tell your prince your own for adequate compensation?” She leans a little closer, only a breath apart and fanning across his twitching lips. She interrupts his thoughts by slapping his hand enough to stun him. “I shall not.” With him vulnerable, she twists away from him with cautious grace. “I like to leave my men wanting.” She calls with a growing impish grin. He surprises himself by returning the gesture, straightening his back as he does so and raising his brows. “And I am one of your men then?” He retorts easily and watches her sashay apart from him. Before she is too far, he pats down to find the letter in his pocket but already knows it has been swiped. Instead of berating his own foolishness, he smirks at the smart, slippery girl and steps away, sure to see her more in the growing time. 

As the moons pass and his brother grows increasingly irate with him, Daemon Targaryen sneaks away into the night. He ignores the hailings of his Lady Bronze and replaces her calls with the sweet melodies his newfound companion intoxicates him with. The soothing lilt of her lullabies and the calm braids she strews across his hair. Daemon stands, now a man of 27 years, at her side. Y/n, she had told him. Her name was Y/n. She was of no surname and no wealth but she was beautiful and kind. She was fresh and witty and every inch the insinuating tart she had been the night they met. Her fingers stroke through his tangled mane with a snort before landing her hands, rough with work, on his shoulders. He leans back and flutters his eyes shut. With all the bread she has kneaded, this is not the first time he longs for her embrace. He hums in swift pleasure, reaching up to coil his fingers with hers. “How is sweet Rhaenyra?” Y/n asks, voice ripe with interest and honey as always…Only this time, there is something burrowed beneath, he can feel it. He can feel it better than he can sense Caraxes’ heartbeat. “She is well…Almost full grown already.” Daemon responds, his fingers lingering as they caress Y/n’s hand. Why does it feel so much frailer than it did before? “Are you hiding something from me? Are you aware that it is a crime to lie to your prince,” The joke falls flat as she leans forward and shakes her head, arms stretching across her lover’s chest. She doesn’t speak and he doesn’t pry but they are both aware of the deep mulberry bags beneath her eyes. 

But Daemon has always been a man of actions and impulses and so, he lets instincts take over, leaning back his head to look at her. His hands both reach up to cup her face and descend it toward him with gentle prompt. “I brought something for you,” He breathes, twirling a strand of her hair around his fingertips. She tilts her head and tightens her lips. “Whatever for?” He lets a mischievous grin twist his mouth and stands, settling Y/n down in the chair instead. Daemon cups her cold hands in his warm ones and folds them in her lap. “Close your eyes.” She does so begrudgingly but she is long past arguing with him when he’s in his moods. She chuckles. “You told you there was nothing you required for your namesday and while I respect–” She interrupts him, groaning with amusement. “Because it is not a namesday, I will never know my namesday,” She chuckles but her tickling throat gives her away, choking the words out of her dry throat. Daemon hums lowly. “But it is the day that you were given shelter.” She rolls her eyes at the quip. “That place was hardly a shelter.” He leans down to kiss wetly along her jaw and up to her earlobe. “And yet it brought you to me, kept you safe and waiting.” She snorts and raises her brows, a pointed expression inching over her. “I was hardly waiting.” He chuckles this time and kisses up the column of her throat. As she begins to breathe out gentle moans, he takes her distracted presence to skillfully thread his hand over hers, sliding cold steel onto her finger. She gasps and flutters her eyes open to see his cocky smirk. “Well?” He asks and kisses the finger. He licks his lips and lets a shaky breath flow through him. 

Y/n regains composure and stares at the ‘something’ he had brought her. She brings it to just in front of her sights and swallows. “Is-Is it…?” “Yes,” He whispers and looks at the carefully crafted jewellery too. “I want you to have a part of me, always. And in return…” He pauses and turns the ring around her finger slowly to reveal a carved dragon, its wings spread for flight. “I want all of you.” He slowly kneels in front of her. “I want you to marry me.” It’s instantaneous that her mouth parts and her eyes widen. “Daemon…” “That woman is not my wife.” He states coldly before warming at the sight of her softening brows. “You are my wife in body, in soul and I want so in law too.” He takes in a breath. “Please, do not this deny of me. “I told you I would give you everything and I intend to. “Your brother will never approve of it.” A growl ripples through his mouth. “I do not care, he has tried to be my dictator since we were children and now I am a man grown, I should be allowed to choose my own wife. To let her choose me. He has not yet had an heir, let me take you to Dragonstone.” He leans closer until only a single breath can part them. “Let me make you my wife in the ways of my ancestors.” Silence cups them in a bubble, so easily popped. Too easily popped…and yet, she turns the ring, roaming the dotted rubies that form the dragon’s eyes and in slow movement, she stares into violet irises as she kisses the dragon’s head. “Yes.” She whispers. “I will be your wife.” 

He doesn’t take a moment more to grasp the sides of her face and kiss fervently at her soft pliant lips. She returns the force in tandem as the sun sets behind them. The golden rays darken in a way only the most beautiful of moments could demand. Daemon’s hand drops to scrunch at the material at her thigh, at the skirts of her dress. It is in moments that both his hands reach to pop and tear at the incriminating fabric, ripping away her bodice until he can paw at his prize like an animal starved. Her teeth sink into his lip and the wet resounding noises surface upon their lips. His breath grunts as hers quickens in high pitched desperation. Her own hands slash roughly at his doublet, shoving it away from him like a criminal. His hips grind against her in hard strokes, desperately trailing his kisses down her neck while she clutches and pulls at his long silver hair. A high moan tears from her mouth as he sucks his marks into her, the need for possession clawing at his veins. Her pearl throbs as she twists to plunge him onto the floor. She straddles his thighs and wraps her arms around his neck and pushes his face against her neck again. He growls and snaps off her smallclothes. “When we met,” He groans, eyes fluttering back. “I thought you were a whore.” A breathy cackle drips from her animalistic mouth. “I’m starting to rethink denouncing that. You are much, ah, much too talented to be a baker.” He moans and burrows his head into the pillows of her breasts, lips wrapping to suction once more, to claim. “And you,” She interrupts herself to moan, tossing her head back. “Are much too unkempt to be a prince.” He bucks his hips. “Tell me,” A shriek breaks as he tugs roughly at the pelvis of his own trousers, desperately trying to be rid of the material. “Tell me you’re mine, Rogue Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.” A gasp drips from his tongue while he finally gets a grip of his fabrics. He tosses her to lie on the floor, her back pressed against the wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” He babbles like a hormonal desperate teenager. With thick hands grapple his own trousers and tears them off with haste. “All yours, only yours.” 

He throbs as he kisses down her body, planting wet marks as violet as his eyes and crimson as his blood. He props up her right leg to drape over his shoulder and sucks at her thigh. His tongue probes at the flesh. His palms squeeze at her thighs as he slowly dips down between them and worships her mound in deep licks, drinking in the slick. He wants to drain it into a flask and carry it in his satchel. He wants to carry her around to sip from at any moment. He could die happily between her legs. Daemon Targaryen does not need wine or whore because she is his sin and he will anger the Gods happily if he can keep this temptress at his side. He pulls back to fan his breath along her throbbing cunny. Such a sweet filthy little thing, he thinks to himself, blowing down on it and revelling in her small jolt. His tongue drops to play with the bundled pearl, rolling it over the muscle and sending vibration as reward for every little moan that she lets pass. Her hands reach down and tug at his hair. “You should not have tempted me, adere riñus,” (slippery girl) His dark eyes level to meet hers. “I told you I want all of you and I intend to take it.” With an animalistic grin, his mouth descends once more to lap at her. Her back arches, grinding into him impatiently. “Be careful,” The woman pants. “Or I may start suspecting you to be a whore yourself.” He growls as she smirks and pushes up her body, slamming a forearm by her head and stretching her leg. She winces for a moment but recovers as his fingers replace his tongue. “A private whore then.” He speaks, removing his hand from her bud to palm at his length. “For a have already told you,” He grunts, chasing her mewls as he plunges into her entrance. “I am yours.” And so he pushes deeper, pushing roughly and lets his sweat pound into her flesh until they absorb one another. 

Months have passed. He knows they have but he doesn’t feel it. All he can do is fight and slay and watch as men burn and bleed. So long it has been since he last saw his true wife, since he last kissed her lips. A comment in passing has devoured his entire mind. A half-hearted promise that he has clung to now is visible but only in part. He wants it now more than he has ever wanted anything. “Yes, well, you may marry her if the Stepstones are ever retaken.” A King will be true to his word and his brother has never proved untrustworthy but the phrase was meant in jest, he knows. However, Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince and man of twenty-eight years, will let himself be damned before he rejects the prospect. He will make his wifey his own if it is the very last thing he does. He has returned to his brother, a crown of bone within his grasp and presented it to him with but one request. He shall take his own wife and he shall take her at court for all to see. Before every lord, lady or royal proudly. For the first time, it isn’t frustration or malice in his brother’s gaze in response to his boldness. It is gentle and merciful. Because that is what it feels like to be gifted the honour of his adere riñus. It is mercy, it is a blessing, it is his salvation. It is the rise of his sun and the fall of his stars because he only needs one. He only needs one shining star to keep his moon afloat and begging. 

Finally he can return home to her with more than a title and unfair vows. He can return with a heart full. Daemon’s hand twists at the wooden door he has slipped past so many times before but he freezes at the sight. An array of mess greets him and horror balls in his throat to gag him. His eyes snap at every corner, panic rising like the flow of sharp wind. His feet travel through the cluttered space, wariness biting at him but then he sees blood splatter on a cloth. It is as crimson as the shirt beneath his tunic and that alone makes him scream for her. Her name resounds through the open space and his legs run swiftly to the only other room there, the one where he had professed his devotion to her until the words bled out. He bursts the door open with the force of ten thousand men, the hinges yelling at him. He settles his sights on his weak love. She is shivering. With widened eyes and swiftly snaps to her side in one breath and kneels there, clutching her hands. “What is wrong, my love, who has hurt you?” The words are loud, demanding and cold. She almost doesn't respond and his heart stops. “I am well, husband.” She calls him such…She calls him such without even knowing the good news, the news he had only dreamed of whispering into your ear but not like this. Never like this. “My love, you are not.” Daemon chastises and fumbles with her bedsheets. He reaches to cup her cheek. “My love what has happened, has someone thieved you, please tell me what has happened.” She merely shakes her head. “I,” She coughs into her hand, rich thick blood dripping from it like a cursed potion. His face hardens but he lets her finish, lets the quiet remain. She’s trembling like a little lamb. “You knew that I was in an…unseemly state when you left. I am glad to have you return to me.” She has never spoken so proper, so rehearsed to him before. How long had he been blind? “I am taking you to a healer.” He snaps instantly and stands. She winces. “No,” She begs weakly. He shakes his head. “No, please, I do not wish for you to see me in this state.” “Shame is not for this time!” He yells. “I return home to my wife sickly and bedridden and you expect me to not alert a maester? Nonsense, you are coming willfully or I will make you.” 

The nights are cold and they pass without progress as he lays by her side at all hours. Her eyes stare up at the ceiling. “It is in the sky that you are free,” She utters. “Caraxes will be missing you.” Daemon shakes his head and glides a hand up her waist. “And if I should fly him then I shall be missing you.” “He is an animal as wild as you, my love,” She berates with the softness of an angel. “And he will wait.” “And for how long? Until I am old in my grave.” “Do not say such things!” Daemon chastises. “It is mere truth, husband.” She sighs and curls his hair in her fingers. “He needs flight and so do you.” He doesn’t respond, his petulance growing.”I am not getting better.” She wags a finger in his face when he tries to argue. “I will continue not to but if you do this justice for me then I will grant you an army of love.” The mischief still holds on her tongue after all this time. The gentle mocking of his salvation and he smiles. He smiles as water pricks his eyes. He can’t speak. He won’t make it so, not if it is only going to claw at him. 

Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince, Lord of Flea Bottom, wielder of Dark Sister sits upon Caraxes and watches as the ivory moon lowers before him. He watches as gold forgives the darkness and they embrace. The twine of beauty and misery thread together in a beautiful seal. A seal of love and beauty. He twists a ring in his hand, one made of Valyrian steel and shattered promises. He sits upon a red cloth. Parchment is strapped to his thigh, awaiting acknowledgement, a web of bluebells encapsulates it. A letter of hopes, a letter of dreams unfulfilled. Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince, Lord of Flea Bottom, wielder of Dark Sister sits upon Caraxes and watches the sun rise and with it, his future. He has felt his slippery girl slip from him and now it is time for him to breathe new air. He is only left with the remnants of her but that is enough for him to resume his newfound duty. A duty to her, to her memory and to her desires. As he watches the night close, he finally takes acceptance. He accepts peace. Her love is not red, it is not blue. It is in what she has left behind and it is in what she has gifted onto him. Finally he understands what she meant that fated day. She does not own him. He belongs to her.

Her love is her remnants. And he has an army of it. 

Remnants Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @chompchompluke @eyelinerandcigarettes

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @blackdreamspeaks @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter

[multific]

Thank You

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Daemon had an urgent matter to attend, he knew leaving you in this stage of your pregnancy would cause concerns, but his duties called.

Seeing you on the bed, looking like a Goddess, Daemon nearly fell to his knees.

Seeing you holding his son, smiling gently at him, Daemon swore this was a dream.

But it wasn't.

He was away on business when the news came to him, the thing he feared when he left came true, you went into labour.

Caraxes never flew as quickly as he did that day.

Daemon needed to get to you, his sweet wife and child.

But he was late when he arrived a maid let him know that you have already given birth as you were now resting.

Daemon nearly tripped over five times before he could reach your sleeping chambers.

In there, he found you leaning against the many pillows all warm and comfortable as you held your child.

You looked down at them, smiling softly, Daemon nearly choked.

You looked absolutely gorgeous. He could feel his knees giving out when you looked up at him, quickly closing the door behind himself, you offered him the same smile as you did to your child moments before.

“Look, your Father’s here.” you said to the baby who raised their hand, you grabbed it, placing a kiss on his little fingers. “My Love, do you want to hold him?” you looked at Daemon who was now standing beside you, and he could only nod.

You moved a bit in the bed, allowing him to join you and he did.

“Wait.” he said before he removed his harsh jacket, leaving him in his soft shirt. Then, he pulled the baby into his arms. No doubt it was his son he was holding. The child was a spitting image of Daemon.

“He looks just like you, and behaves like you as well.” he looked at you with a question in his eyes. “When the nurse tried to take him to wash, he cried so much they had to give him back to me. Then he was meant to go to the nurse but again, he cried until he was given back to me.”

“You must be tired, if he demanded your attention so much.”

“I am, but I also wanted to wait for you. We need to think of a name. And he is just the cutest little man.” you raised your hand, catching a tear from his eye as he looked at his heir. You watched as your husband kissed the baby’s forehead and belly, making him giggle.

“Thank you.” he said with such a soft voice only you could hear it. You knew exactly what he meant. 

Thank you for being so strong and gifting me a son.

The child yawned just as you did.

“Sleep now, I got him. We will name him once you are rested.” It was your turn for a forehead kiss as you cuddled into his side. Daemon smiled as both of you fell asleep in his arms.

Daemon could finally let out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

Knowing both his son and wife were healthy and safe, he could finally relax.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster​ celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll​ snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow​ @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith​ @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter @stunkbiggu @violet-19999 @praline357

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

             DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[ryuzakemo128]

Arranged Marriage - House of the Dragons

Chapter One: First Meeting

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Freyja Skjaldmeyjar-Targaryen [Female Reader]

Trigger Warnings: n/a

Suitable for the general audience.

Masterlist / Masterlist Part 2

Dividers Used: Link

Next Chapter

Chapter Summary: Daemon and Freyja are meant to be wed three weeks ago. However it often gets delayed due to Freyja's business endeavors in the north. Which leads to a heated debate with her step mother Alyssa Mormont.

[Daemon's point of View]

The room was large, open and spacious stretching out in a circular tower. Each floor of the tower had its walls lined with bookshelves filled with books of ancient tomes to fictional tales lined against them. The ornate stairs twisting in the center to traverse between each floor of the tower.

Plush soft armchairs were scattered placed back to back around the room to provide comfort while they read books in the library. The library also had stained glass windows in varied colours and tones. Thick dark purple rugs on the floor underneath the dark wooden tables.

The ceiling between each floor had a light blue sky with clouds painted onto each one, ranging to dawn to sunset sky painted onto each one. Light blues morphed into ethereal golds, and the soft blush of dawn dissolved into the fiery reds of sunset.

We sat in the armchairs on the second floor of the library, as we spoke about the arranged marriage between Freyja and myself. However, things didn't exactly line up as I would have liked it to be. I paced around the library, she wasn't here and in her place, Alyssa was there instead.

"She won't be here until she comes back from her business venture." Alyssa stated, "So you have plenty of time before she returns."

"Business venture? Is that what she calls wandering off for a week to get chunks of ice?" I replied.

"She says there is a name for them, but I never remember what the technical name for it." Alyssa replied. "She also says its incredibly rare and hard to find more than three chunks from each ore vein."

The Glacium Shardium, its iridescent blue colours and hues. A light white misty fog breathe from the vein in coffins left bare and cracked open to the elements of the harsh snow. A piece sat in a dark wood and glass display case against the end of a bookshelf near the staircase.

I wasn't sure about this, she was always a wild child growing up. And even worse, she was a woman who was known for her independent and adventurous spirit. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult it would be to tame her. I knew her to be incredibly passionate about everything, from her studies to her fighting skills to her love of dragons.

"I'm not sure I'm the right man for her," I said. "She's so different from me. I'm more of a traditional kind of guy. I like to stay in one place and build a life. She's always on the go, exploring new things. I don't know if I can keep up with her."

"I know what you mean, she can be pretty full on for anyone who doesn't expect it," Alyssa agreed, "She can also be seen as rather wild due to her extensive amount of energy and high endurance."

I still remember what she was like growing up, climbing trees, running through the forest, swimming in the river and getting into all sorts of trouble.

"She got into more trouble than anyone I knew, Aegon II pales in comparison when it comes to troublemaking," Daemon said. "I still remember the time she snuck out of the castle to go swimming in the middle of the night. She got caught by the guards and was grounded for a month."

"That's nothing," Alyssa said. "The time she stole a dragon egg from the dragonpit and tried to hatch it in her room? That was something else."

Daemon laughed. "I remember that. She was so disappointed when it didn't hatch."

"She was heartbroken," Alyssa said. "She really wanted a dragon of her own. Poor thing cried for months, until one day she found Reshiram."

"Reshiram?" Daemon asked. "The white dragon?"

"Yes," Alyssa said. "She was out exploring the mountains when she came across a cave. Inside the cave, she found Reshiram, injured and alone. She took the dragon back to her room and nursed it back to health. They've been inseparable ever since."

"Yeah, ever since started "The Dragon's Den?" Daemon asked. "What's that?"

"It's a marketplace for rare items," Alyssa explained. "Freyja started it a few years ago to provide a safe and legitimate place for people to buy and sell magical artifacts. It's been very successful, and she's made a lot of friends through it."

"That's impressive," Daemon said. "I didn't know she was so business-minded."

"She can't sit still, she never could," Alyssa said. "She's always got to be doing something. That's why she started "The Dragon's Den" in the first place. She needed a way to channel her energy and creativity. And it's worked out really well for her."

"I'm starting to think I don't know her at all," Daemon said. "She's not the same wild child I remember from childhood."

"She's still the same adventurous and passionate person she's always been, but she's also grown up and become more responsible. She's still a wild child at heart, but she's also a savvy businesswoman and a loyal friend. I think you'll be surprised by how much she's grown."

[salemwasnteverhere]

Reading fanfiction isn't enough anymore I need to crawl into my TV and fuck him

[happilyhertale]

Fire and blood - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Author’s note: Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.

Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here.

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Summary: You haven't been married to your husband Daemon Targaryen for very long - but you've learnt to enjoy your marriage to the Rogue Prince. But unlike normality, you haven't sought out Daemon for a few affectionate visits throughout the day, and that makes him suspicious…

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Period smut; fingering (f in v), p in v sex - implied

Word count: 2.2 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Daemon opens the door, but only darkness reveals itself to him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but steps into your shared chambers. He is looking for his wife, who has been by his side for several moons now.

During this time, he has already become accustomed to you seeking him out throughout the day, sometimes just to get a little peck and sometimes because you want to tell him something - but today you have not sought him out.

His heavy footsteps sound in your chambers as he walks further inside.

"Are you hiding from me, woman?" he murmurs.

He walks over to a small table with fruit and sweet dishes on it. He takes a bunch of grapes between his fingers before letting them disappear into his mouth.

"Has another moon gone by?" he asks into the room and turns to your bed, where he recognises the outline of a figure under the covers. A slight grin plays around his lips before he walks towards the bed.

But as he gets closer, he picks up an unusual scent.

"What's that smell?" he asks.

And suddenly your voice rings out, "It's oak bark tea... My abdomen is a cramp," you mumble from under the covers.

He's still smiling and comes closer to the bed.

"What have we got here? I wonder what trouble could be brewing under here," he says, reaching lightly for the blanket.

"No... Go away," you say quietly and try to hold the blanket tight.

But Daemon pulls the blanket down further and kneels on the bed with one knee.

"Ah... there you are... what a view," he says sarcastically as the blanket reveals your face. Your hair lies dishevelled on the pillow, your face a little sleepily puffy as your annoyed gaze meets his. "Yes....my beautiful wife," he says and smiles. He pulls the blanket down further and a "Go away," sounds from you again.

He smiles at your words, "Why would I do that when I have such a sight in front of me?" he says, a hint of sarcasm still in his voice again.

You sigh and try to turn away, but you feel Daemon kneel down further on the bed and his hand grips you gently.

"Ah, ah, ah," he says and lies down next to you, his arm wrapped around your middle.

His warm breath brushes the back of your neck as he presses his face into yours, "What's wrong," he whispers.

You sigh again and already feel his large, surprisingly warm hand on your abdomen... a warm touch of your dragon.

"I'm bleeding..." you say almost inaudibly, but Daemon hears your words and smiles slightly. He knows how you feel during your period. You're vulnerable and sleepy. The cramps force you to lie down and only warmth and strange teas from the maesters give you some relief... well, and other things.

But you're his wife and according to him, you should always feel carefree - but he can't refrain from teasing you a little.

"Pardon?" he whispers, smiling slightly, while you sigh lightly again.

"I'm bleeding..." you repeat your words and mumble into your pillow.

"Love..." he whispers again.

You close your eyes and feel this inner tension that tickles your fingertips.

"I'm on my period," you say a little louder into the pillow.

"Love... Sorry, I don't understand," Daemon replies and his lips graze your neck.

His behaviour makes you seethe, why can't he leave you alone?

"Daemon! Seven hells! I'm on my period! I'm in pain and I'm bleeding!", you call out and raise your head slightly.

He chuckles, "It's fine... no need to shout like that..."

You shake your head slightly, wanting to push his arm away, but he has a firm grip on you. His hand slides slowly downwards, his fingers make light, circular movements and you stiffen slightly.

"Daemon, what are you doing," you suddenly whisper.

"I want you to feel good, love... It'll help you relax..." he murmurs into your ear, nibbling lightly.

You gasp and hold his hand back, "Daemon... there's blood... a lot... it's the first day..." you say hesitantly.

He continues to nibble on your earlobe, his fingers sliding along your thigh, not in the least impressed by your words.

"You know there's nothing to be ashamed of. A woman's body is a natural, beautiful thing.... It's beautiful because it's you," he kisses your cheek and lets his nose glide gently along it. His hand strokes along your thigh and you feel a slight throbbing between your thighs alongside the numbing pain in your abdomen.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" he whispers, kissing the soft skin behind your ear.

You bite your lip lightly, but you shake your head slightly.

"Daemon... There really is a lot of blood..." you repeat your words quietly.

He chuckles softly again, another kiss landing on your neck, "Love... a true warrior isn't afraid of a little blood..." he murmurs.

His hand slides further, "Just relax..." he whispers and you try. Slowly, you close your eyes and try to concentrate on his touch as a heavy breath leaves your lips.

Gently, he kisses your neck and shoulder as he holds you close."It's nothing to be ashamed of either. Especially not my wife. It's natural," he whispers in your ear.

His fingers pull your nightgown up, very slowly. His fingers leave a fiery trail on your thigh and you try to ignore the dull ache that runs through your abdomen.

You can't suppress it, your hips begin to move in slight circular motions as his fingers glide through your pubic hair, caressing you. You gasp as you can already feel his arousal from behind as he presses himself lightly against you.

His fingers reach their destination, slowly running along your folds, and you gasp again – your legs spread slightly.

"That's it... I'll take care of you..." he whispers in your ear and you nod slightly.

The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers find your pearl and apply light pressure. Your legs spread wider and a smile graces his lips.

"Daemon..." you gasp.

"I know..." he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe again as his fingers rub gently over your clit.

"Your body is natural and beautiful. Even in all its bloody glory," he whispers and you nod, your breathing quickening.

He kisses you on the cheek again as his fingers tease over your glistening entrance, gently spreading your folds.

You feel the familiar stretch as his fingers slide inside you. But not all the way in, he teases you a little and you exhale heavily, your hips moving towards his fingers, longing for his touch. And then he fulfils your craving – his fingers stretch your walls, trying to find a good angle, pushing deeper. He revels in the slickness that coats his fingers, the evidence of your arousal mingling with the blood that flows.

"Feel how wet you are for me," he whispers teasingly, his smile pressing against the back of your neck.

"Daemon!" you gasp, but also a small moan leaves your lips.

He chuckles briefly, but your concentration is once again fully on his movements as his fingers penetrate deeper.

"Gods..." you gasp and he grins. Slowly, but firmly, his fingers push forward. He can feel your walls clench, longing for release.

"You know I love all the sounds you make, but I love your moans the most. I can feel your walls tighten around my fingers as if your body wants to hold me inside you while I make you tremble..." he whispers in your ear.

You moan again as his thumb grazes your pearl. He continues his expert ministrations, he is determined to make you forget the discomfort, to lose yourself in a wave of pleasure that only he can provide.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning you as his thumb presses against your clit again.  You press your arse against his hardness and he moans into your neck. As he feels your hips moving towards his fingers, urging for more, he complies, increasing the intensity of his movements. He curls his fingers, angling them to hit that sweet spot within you, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with desire.

"Moan for me…" he commands, his voice laced with dominance, "Let me hear your pleasure, let it echo through these chambers."

And you obey as his fingers thrust deeper. He bites into your neck as his fingers tease your walls. His fingers continue their exploration, delving deeper inside you, seeking out the spots that make you writhe with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, his touch skilled and attentive to your body's responses.

Smacking noises echo in your chambers as his fingers pump in and out faster. His fingers sliding in and out of your wetness with ease. With each thrust of his fingers, he can feel the slickness and warmth of your arousal, heightening his own desire.

He starts to apply more pressure and lets a third finger slide in. He knows what you like and he gives it to you the way you need it. He stretches your walls while they continue to clench around his fingers. Daemon's eyes gleam with a mixture of desire and possessiveness as he feels your response to his touch. He revels in the power he holds over your pleasure, his fingers moving with a practiced precision.

"Oh, my sweet wife," he murmurs, the words laced with a mixture of possessiveness and anticipation. "You are so responsive, so eager for my touch."

His body presses against yours, his hard length grinding against your backside as he continues to pleasure you with his fingers. His lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your fear of smearing him with your blood is forgotten, you need more.

"Daemon... Daemon," you whimper again and again, your arm reaching back, to the back of his head. Your fingers reach into his silky hair and he grunts. As he continues to drive you towards the peak of pleasure, Daemon's own desire grows, his need for release becoming undeniable. But at this moment, he's focused solely on your pleasure, on taking you to the edge and beyond, on helping you forget your discomfort.

"Yes... my love... Come on, come on my fingers, milk them like you always milk my cock when I fuck that delicious cunt," he growls into your neck.

And that pushes you over the edge. You cry out, your walls tightening around his fingers and Daemon grunts out.

You whimper, your hand gripping his hair tighter as he kisses your neck. Your eyes are closed, your breathing rapid as he pulls his fingers out when your walls stop clenching. A pleasant warmth flows through your abdomen, soothing away the pain more effectively than every maester's tea could.

As you catch your breath, you glance slightly over your shoulder and look at Daemon. He chuckles as he looks at his fingers, they're covered in blood.

"This is a sight I couldn't have imagined at the beginning of the day..", he kisses your neck again, "But I'm going to enjoy it“, he whispers into your ear.

"Daemon, no!" you say with wide eyes.

He just grins as you avert your eyes and blush. You hear the smacking sound as he licks his fingers.

But now you have to laugh as you stare at him again – his eyes are closed and he seems to be enjoying it.

"You're impossible..." you say softly as he still licks his fingers.

"Daemon, stop it!" you say and giggle, but he just grins and pulls you closer to him again.

"Delicious," he murmurs.

He starts stroking and caressing your belly again.

His breathing slows down as he holds you close. The sounds and smell of you, your little body in his embrace, it's almost more than he can bear at this moment.

He gently grabs your chin, as if he were holding something fragile and precious, and gently pulls your head upwards. When you return his gaze, it is gentle and tender.

"And you are my wife. You may feel sick, you may bleed, sometimes I may even be the cause of your anger. But that's all part of your body's natural rhythm. So please, my sweet girl, never hide from the pain, never keep your misery a secret. Otherwise, I promise you, it will cause me more grief than your blood..." he says gently. These moments with him are rare, but you savour them – your lovely husband. You lean towards him and let your lips slide onto his. He growls slightly and you feel his hand on your arse. You giggle slightly and feel his smile on your lips.

But the grip on your arse tightens and he pulls you towards him, positioning you perfectly against his crotch. He still can't hide his excitement and you gasp slightly. Your lips are still dancing around each other, you can feel the coppery taste on his tongue as he starts to undo his trousers. He growls again as his hand spreads your cheeks slightly and presses his hardness between your thighs from behind. You whimper as his cock slides along your folds.

"Let's see if we can give you a little more relief, shall we?" he growls against your lips and you moan as the tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 1

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, mild smut (at the end), threesome 

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: ~1.9K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“God my head fucking hurts,” you whine, sitting up to rub your eyes. “That wine really hit out of nowhere.” Your head pounds, it has to be part of a hangover. The last thing you remember before drinking yourself to sleep was getting fired. Your boss hadn’t even had the decency to let you know face to face. An HR representative and your manager requested a zoom call at the end of the day and politely told you to ‘clean your desk.’

After nearly three years of work with the same accounting firm, it was weird to not wake up early and head into the office. The worst part really was that your performance was still stellar, the firm was just hemorrhaging money after several questionable expansions. 

Despite the pounding headache and sensitivity to light, you force yourself to open your eyes. “What the fuck?!” Glancing around the room frantically, you panic as you realize you weren’t waking up in the comfort of your room. You had to be the subject of some prank reality tv show because the decor was undoubtedly some renaissance festival shit. The walls were brick with large tapestries decorating the stone. You were laid in the center of a giant four poster bed, black and red canopies flowing.

Slipping from the tangle of sheets and blankets, you pad towards the door. “Okay,” you call out, “you got me. Very funny.” 

Silence. 

“This is so weird” you murmur, pushing the door open as gently as possible to peak out. A woman rushes by you, dressed in some kind of drab linen and an apron. “Excuse me!” you shout, attempting to get her attention. 

The short woman slowed down, stopping to curtsy quickly at the sight of you. “My lady, forgive me. I didn’t you see you there!”

“My lady?” You asked. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, my lady,” she replied quietly. “Please don’t tell your wife I was making jokes! I swear I meant no harm-”

“My wife?!” Everyone has officially gone off the deep end. First this medieval times shit, now apparently you have a wife.

The woman’s eyes go wide, “Your wife, Queen Rhaenyra. My lady, are you unwell?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I have no idea what’s going on. I lost my job. I don’t know where I am or apparently who I am. I just want-” You choke off into sobs.

“Let me help you back to your room,” she offered, taking your elbow. “I’ll let the Queen know you’re unwell.”

You nodded, letting her lead you back into the room. The woman helped you into a steaming bath and left you to soak while she fetched your wife. “Can’t believe someone made an honest woman of me,” you laugh.

At some point, the entire situation stopped feeling like a prank. Maybe it was watching the maid fill the tub painstakingly bucket by bucket, or the significant lack of electricity. Either way, your situation was beginning to feel more and more real. You grab the bar of soap and lather up a cloth, scrubbing furiously at your skin. 

“That’s weird,” you murmur as you notice that your skin seems far too perfect. You usually had a couple scars littering your arms and legs, leftovers from frequently crashing your bike as a kid and general clumsiness. They all seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but perfectly smooth, supple skin behind. “Okay, I’m officially going crazy.”

You see a small mirror on the ledge next to the tub, and reach out with shaky hands. You sigh in relief as you glance into the mirror and see that you look the same. At least you have something familiar here.

“Admiring the view? I know I am.” A deep voice purred from behind you.

Tossing the mirror back, you swiftly cover your chest and pray that the water obscurs the rest of you. “What the fuck?!” You yell, turning to confront whatever pervert decided to interrupt your bath. A tall man towered over the tub, his white hair practically glowing as the candlelight reflected off of it.

“I’m trying to have an existential crisis in here,” you hiss. “Can you come back later or something?”

He snorted a laugh, stalking forward to grab a brush from the side table and sit behind you. “And miss this opportunity? I should think not, my love.” He gently began detangling your hair and brushing it out. 

“My love? You do know I’m a married woman?” You retort.

“You never let me forget,” he replied, kissing the top of your hair. 

“I mean I have a wife, asshole!” You twist around to snatch the brush from his hands, but he lifts it out of your reach.

“What a coincidence,” he purrs, blatantly staring at your breasts. “I do too. Two, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes dart down to your left hand, as if he knows something you don’t.

You glance at the ring that’s been there since you woke up. The black metal has a dragon insignia that looks awfully similar to the embroidery on this man’s shirt. “Fuck.” 

The man’s brows furrow, “what’s wrong?” He sets the brush down, grabbing a sheet and pulling you from the bath. He wraps you up and sits you in his lap. The warmth seeping into your skin feels so familiar and you feel yourself begin to break. Tears stream down your cheeks, and you burrow your face into his neck to hide them. 

Warm hands rub up and down your back soothingly. “My love, I cannot fix whatever is wrong if you don’t tell me.” He hums. “You don’t even have to tell me. Just give Rhaenyra a name and I will ensure whoever made you cry will never breathe again.”

You laugh at the irony. “I don’t know who Rhaenyra is. I’m not sure I even know who I am.” 

Before he can respond, a door slams. “Daemon, thank Gods you’re here. The maid said y/n was acting ill and didn’t rememb-” 

Your head peaks up over the man–Daemon’s shoulder to see the woman who ran in. Her hair is just as white as Daemon’s and her clothing adorned with the same dragon insignia. This must be Queen Rhaenyra.

“Y/n?!” Rhaenyra rushes over, kissing your cheek before she hugs you tightly. 

“My queen,” Daemon greets, leaning in for a kiss. You find yourself pressed between the two, and as much as you don’t want to admit it….the warmth and pressure feels comforting…like home. 

“I hate to break this up,” you say, wiping the last of your tears away. “But can someone tell me what is going on. The last thing I remember was being fired, getting wine drunk, and going to bed early.”

“Fired?” Rhaenyra looked confused and immediately started inspecting every exposed inch of your skin. “Did you try to feed Caraxes again? He’s a temperamental old man, just like his rider.”

“Who is Caraxes? Do ya’ll have a dog or something?”

“Dog?!” Daemon sounded almost offended. “A dog?! Rhaenyra we should fetch a maester. Our little dragon is either begging for a punishment or in need of a healer.”

Rhaenyra attempts to cover her laugh. “Caraxes, Daemon’s dragon? You insist on telling him a goodnight story at least once a week.”

“He’s a dragon of war for fucks sake,” Daemon mutters. “You’ve been making him soft.”

“Dragon?!” Your eyes go wide. “You’re joking. You’ve gotta be fucking me right now.”

“We are most definitely no-”

“We certainly could be-”

Daemon and Rhaenyra spoke at the same time. You would have laughed, but the implications of Daemon’s words were starting to settle in.

“Wait,” you being. “So if Queen Rhaenyra is my wife….and Daemon has two wives…and you two seem to be close…that means-”

“That you both are all mine,” Daemon purrs.

“Daemon, we must call for the maester. This seems serious, she doesn’t even remember us.”

“What year is this?” You ask, not sure if you want the answer.

“125 AC.” Rhaenyra responds.

“And where are we?”

“The red keep.”

“What, is that like England or something?”

“We are in Westeros.” Rhaenyra feels your forehead. “Daemon, put y/n to bed while I have the maids summon the maester.”

You yelp in surprise and Daemon stands up, holding you close to his chest. He carries you to a vanity, setting you gently on the bench before rummaging through some drawers. “Arms up, love.” He says, pulling a white shift over your head. You stare of into space as Daemon gently braids your hair. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” You ask as he ties a ribbon at the ends of the braid.

“You and Rhaenyra are quite the demanding duo when you want to be,” he snorts. “The staff might revolt and establish Rhaenyra’s cunt of a half-brother as king if I bothered them everytime you both needed your hair done.”

“Language,” you chide. Daemon rolls his eyes before he sweeps you back up into his arms. He carries you to the bed, depositing you in the center before he climbs in. Daemon sits up, back against the headboard as he pulls you in to lean against his chest. 

“Do you really not remember us?” He asks. 

“How long have we been married?” 

“Five years. We were married in the old ways. Your High Valyrian wasn’t as good back then though.” Daemon laughs. “But it was perfect, and I wouldn’t trade you both for anything.”

“So if Rhaenyra is queen, what does that make you?” You ask. He had to be King, right?

“A lucky man.”

You laugh, and lightly hit his chest. “No, really. I don’t remember anything. Help a girl out here.”

“Prince consort.” Daemon answers. You nod, so Rhaenyra must be in charge around here.

“So how’d I end up married to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon?” You ask in the poshest British accent you can muster.

“You threw yourself at my feet saying ‘Please Rhaenyra, I cannot live without you! You are the sun that brightens the sky and the stars that guide ships home!’” Rhaenyra teased. You sit up to see that Rhaenyra isn’t alone, she brought back some balding man with her. 

“I didn’t say that-” You protest.

“Really?” Daemon laughs. “My queen, it’s not proper to toy with someone who is ill.”

“You’re one to talk,” Rhaenyra says, raising a brow. “You seemed rather close when I came in earlier.”

You groan. How did you manage to survive these two for five years. 

!!SMUT BELOW!!

PREVIEW FOR PART TWO

“No,” Daemon scolds, clasping your hands together in his larger one and wrenching your body into his. “You’re not in charge here. You’re going to listen and obey like a good little girl.” You whine in response, nodding furiously in agreement. Suddenly, Rhaenyra’s warm body brushes up against your back. She nibbles lightly at your ear before kissing and licking her way down your neck.

“No need to be cruel,” Rhaenyra purrs. “Our little dragon is just begging for attention the only way she knows how.”

You whimper, canting your hips into Daemon’s. He slides a thigh between yours, pressing it up against your cunt. Your eyes roll back and you moan at the friction. “Please,” you breathe out, your teary eyes meeting his. 

NOTE: Hey all! I'm not dead, sorry for disappearing! Life happened (new job, had to travel home for a funeral). But, I got my shit back together after taking some time for myself and I'm ready to give y'all the stories I've been cooking up. I have some steamy and inspiring requests I'm working on for Feyd Rautha (so if you requested...they're coming). Glad to be back and BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR PART 2!!!! - Lacie <3

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[agathaswoman]

modern!daemon & aemond hating each other

daemon, to aemond: one universe, nine planets, seven seas, seven continents, and i had the unfortunate luck of meeting you in this life

y/n: hey, that’s not very nice–

aemond: there are only eight planets, you uncultured swine!

y/n: woah! no need to be so damn personal, aemond!

[arabellasleopardcoat]

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

[aeralux]

"Spellbound" - Daemon Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Summary: A witch doesn't cower to anyone... except maybe a dragon. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Harrenhal seems to be riddled with darkness and mysteries, after all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+); rough sex; oral (f!receiving); fingering; foul language; talks of magick and its use; technically infidelity on Daemon's part; loss of virginity; mention of blood

Words: 8.3k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for dark hair. Takes place in Harrenhal when Daemon is staying there. I tried to be as accurate to Westeros lore as I could, I literally spent hours on their wiki, so I hope it shows through :)

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Harrenhal was a ghastly place. It had the biggest castle of all of Westeros. The castle had five dizzying towers, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The walls were incredibly thick, and its rooms were built on a scale that would be more comfortable for giants than humans—said to be haunted and eerie.

Perfect for sorceresses and sorcerers alike, the city had a coven of Witches who collectively went by the name "Wives of the Gods Eye." The name was an ode to Gods Eye, the largest lake of the Seven Kingdoms, located south of Harrenhal.

In the embrace of warm sunlight, the water of the Gods Eye shimmers in vibrant shades of blue and green, casting a magical glow. Yet, as winter blankets the land, its surface transforms into a steely grey, reminiscent of the coldest metal. Majestic black swans glide gracefully across the water. Just a short distance away, a winding lake road meanders near the storied Harrenhal, leading through a patchwork of rolling hills, sparkling streams, and golden sunlit fields. As one journeys further south, the landscape gives way to dense, shadowy forests, creating a clear contrast.

The lake, with its murky depths, bore a name of divine beings, yet here, amidst the towering pines and shivering mists, there existed no gods. Only monsters lurked in the shadows, and witches wove their secrets beneath the pale moonlight. As for you, you were a bastard of Pinkmaiden, an unwelcome child of a place that should have offered a home. At the young age of six, you were sent to Harrenhal, a castle steeped in blood and betrayal, to serve the lords and ladies of House Strong as one of the laundresses. The ancient stones watched over you with cold indifference, whispering the secrets of many who had come before.

Your raven-black hair flowed like a dark river down your back, framing your face and matching nicely with your unsettling eyes, which shimmered like a stormy sea. These features marked you as different, a reminder of your uncertain heritage. It was not long before the Lady of Harrenhal, with her porcelain skin and sharp gaze, grew wary of your presence. On the eve of your sixteenth birthday, she cast you out, her disdain cutting deeper than any blade.

Alone and bereft, you wandered the wilderness, uncertainty gnawing at your heart. But fortune smiled upon you when the coven of witches found you, their cloaks billowing like dark wings against the whispering wind. They took you in, offering a refuge far removed from the stone walls of Harrenhal. In their hidden glen, where wildflowers crowded beneath the trees, they made you feel cherished for the first time. 

Nowadays, for most, magic is a little-understood force in the world. It has been so long since magic was truly potent that most understanding now exists only in superstition and rituals of questionable validity. But with them, you understood, the doubts of others have no claim.

"You are special," they insisted, words dripping with ancient wisdom. "You possess something otherworldly." Their voices wrapped around you like a warm embrace. For the first time, you believed there was a purpose to your existence—a spark that set you apart from common folk, a thread woven from the fabric of something otherworldly.

Under their solemn guidance, you began to practice the mysterious arts. You learned to mix herbs and roots, crafting potions that glinted with promise and danger. Each incantation you whispered held power, resonating with the essence of the world around you. The witching nights became your solace, and as you delved deeper into their teachings, the women of the coven began to call you their newest daughter—their black swan. In that embrace, you found your wings, soaring above the harsh reality that had sought to bind you.

There, in the shadows of Harrenhal, you discovered your true calling and uncovered your hidden talent: Glamour magic. The few ladies of the coven from Asshai welcomed you into their fold. Asshai, a mysterious and ancient port city nestled in the far southeast of Essos, was unlike any place in Westeros, you gathered from their stories. There, the Ash River wound its way through the land, flowing into the vast expanse of the Jade Sea, where the waters sparkled under the sun like jewels.

As you sat among the flickering candles in their dimly lit chamber, they taught you ancient spells in their native tongue. Words danced on your lips like whispers in the wind, each incantation holding power and mystique. They guided you in prayer, teaching you how to bow your head before the Red God, channelling your intentions through sacred rituals. The air was thick with incense, and the flickering shadows brought to life the stories of ages past, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and purpose.

When the wise ladies of the coven, cloaked in shadows and steeped in ancient lore, deemed you ready to embrace your destiny, they presented you with a striking necklace carved from deep black obsidian. Its surface shimmered like a starless night sky, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth where your journey began. Though the obsidian was traditionally used to forge weapons of war, the coven believed it resonated with your spirit, a perfect talisman for what lay ahead.  

As you clasped the necklace around your neck, it transformed into your glamor, an enchanting charm that bestowed upon you the power to weave illusions. With it, the magic could shift the perceptions of those around you, allowing you to appear as someone—or something—entirely different. While the shape of the necklace remained unchanged, the world could see whatever you wished it to see, bending reality to your will.  

The true strength of glamors lies in their connection to the wearer. Each illusion from the obsidian was ingrained with a piece of you, making them far more potent than mere tricks of light. As you wore the necklace, you felt it pulse gently against your skin, a current of magic entwining your fate with ancient spells. The coven’s trust in you burned bright like the embers of a dying fire.  

In the realm where shadows danced and whispers echoed, the obsidian necklace became more than just an accessory; it was an extension of your very being, a bridge between the world you knew and the numerous possibilities.

Through the fogs surrounding Harrenhal and its haunting towers, a figure emerged one day that would change the course of history. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, found himself in the ancient fortress where magic lingered in the air, where witches snarled their secrets beneath the pale moonlight, and where even the strongest of men lost their minds to visions that tormented them.

The arrival of the Targaryen prince foreshadowed the beginning of the violent conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons, igniting the flames of war. The first target being Harrenhal. Daemon Targaryen, fierce and determined, led the charge to seize this shadowy castle for his wife, Rhaenyra. In his mind, it would become a stronghold for loyal supporters rising in the Riverlands.

Chaos erupted in the region, the air thick with tension and fear hanging heavily over the lords and common folk. Yet amidst this turmoil, you stood resolute, encouraged by the words of an elder from your coven, whose foresight promised their safety in these troubled times.

With unwavering determination, you journeyed to the godswood of Harrenhal, walking along the clear, winding stream that wandered gently through the emerald shrubberies. The ancient weirwood, with its deformed roots and an angry face carved into its bark, awaited you at the heart of the woods. Its pale leaves trembled softly in the breeze, whispering secrets of generations past.

Above you, birds flitted through the branches, their songs mingling with the rustling leaves, while bats emerged as shadows against the dusky sky, patrolling for their evening meal. A sly cat sneaked near the godswood's stone wall, its eyes glinting like lanterns in the twilight. In this serene moment, you felt a peculiar kinship with the creatures of the wood, convinced that you were not alone.

With reverence, you placed your offering between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, murmuring a quick prayer. You believed in many deities, each an important part of your life, hoping that at least one would consider your call. After all, in these dark times, hope was a precious thing.

Before your journey back, you felt a tug in your heart to pay a quick visit to Alys. The kind healer lady was one of the rare souls who did not cast disdainful glances at you during your time in the castle. Known by others as the “witch queen,” Alys saw past the uncanny aura that surrounded you. She had grown fond of you, despite the brooding darkness that seemed to dance in your eyes, and she understood that your best path was far from these stone walls. You stood out too much among the lords and ladies, a vision amidst the living.

Like a creeping shadow, you slipped through the secret passage, the cool air brushing against your skin as you navigated the hidden corridors. The echoes of your footsteps were muffled by the cold, damp stones, as you moved with practised ease to avoid the lurking guards. You knew better than to provoke their watchful eyes.

Upon entering Alys's chamber, you were greeted by a familiar sight—her collection of potions and drying herbs adorned the shelves, a simple yet charming chaos that spoke of her craft. The room held a soft scent of lavender and something earthy, an aroma that always brought you comfort. You wandered over to the table, intrigued by the array of glass bottles filled with vivid liquids.

But the serenity shattered in an instant, as a cold steel blade pressed against your throat, sending a chill cascading down your spine. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the tension in the air. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic surged. Who could it be, a figure lurking in the shadows, ready to end your life? The world around you faded into silence, but your senses heightened, honed by years of uncertainty. At that moment, you wondered if your last moments would be in the castle that had been both shelter and prison.

You couldn't see the face of your attacker, but you could feel the presence looming over you, the weight of their body pressing you forward. The blade dug into your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck. You swallowed hard, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Who are you?" a low and menacing voice demanded. And what are you doing here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to you, but there was a certain authority in it that sent a chill down your spine. You knew that whoever this person was, they meant business.

You tried to turn your head, to catch a glimpse of your attacker, but the blade pressed harder against your throat, making you wince in pain. "Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no harm."

The figure behind you let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No harm? You sneak into the healer's chambers like a thief in the night, and you claim to mean no harm?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood on your skin. "I'm not a thief," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm a friend of Alys. I came to see her, to...to say hello."

The blade pressed harder against your throat, making you gasp in pain. "Hello?" the voice repeated, a note of suspicion in it. "Somehow I doubt you, little witch."

You knew then that your attacker was well aware of your true nature, of the magic that coursed through your veins. You thought of the obsidian necklace around your neck, the glamor that disguised you as a simple servant girl. But you knew that even that powerful magic would be no match for the Valyrian steel pressed against your throat.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you struggled to steady your breathing. The cold steel pressed harder against your throat, sending a jolt of pain through your body. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

"I swear, it's true," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear. "I didn't know anyone would be here. I thought...I thought Alys would be alone."

You could feel your attacker's warm breath on the back of your neck, their presence looming over you like a dark shadow. You wanted to turn and face them, to see the face of the one who held your life in their hands, but the blade kept you still.

"Please," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. "Don't hurt me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I just wanted to see her"

Your hands shook at your sides, the obsidian necklace hidden beneath your simple servant's gown a cold weight against your skin. You knew that your glamor was useless now, that your true nature had been discovered. But you couldn't let them know about the coven, about the power that you possessed.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain that was sure to come. You had survived so much in your short life and had endured so much hardship and betrayal. But in that moment, faced with the cold steel of a stranger's blade, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean any harm."

You waited for the blade to slice through your skin, for the blood to pour from the wound. But it never came. Instead, you felt the pressure of the blade lessen, the cold steel sliding away from your throat.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw the face of the one who had held your life in their hands. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of spun silver and eyes as violet as an iris. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a legend, a true son of Valyria.

Daemon's violet eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman before him, his gaze sharp and piercing. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch, but he also sensed something else—a flicker of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He knew a witch when he saw one, and you were no ordinary servant.

"A friend of Alys's, you say?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet you seem to know your way around this castle better than most. Tell me, little witch, what exactly are you doing here?"

He kept the blade pressed against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath the cold steel and could see the way your pulse fluttered. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've dealt with your kind before," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I know the tricks you play, the illusions you weave. But trust me, little one, you'll find no mercy here."

Daemon's eyes flicked down to the necklace hidden beneath your gown, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. He had seen such trinkets before. But this one was different—there was a power to it that even he could sense, a dark and ancient magic that thrummed through the air like a heartbeat.

"What's this?" he demanded, his fingers brushing against the hidden amulet. "Some kind of charm, is it? A trinket to hide your true face from the world?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "I can smell the magic on you, little witch. It clings to your skin like perfume. The same foul odour that clings to the healer."

Daemon's hand slid down from your throat to your collarbone, his fingers tracing the curve of your flesh beneath the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling of your hands as you met Daemon's piercing violet gaze. With a steady motion, you reached behind your neck and unclasped the necklace, letting the heavy amulet drop into your palm. There was no point in trying to hide your identity any longer. Your true face coming to light.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as you revealed the truth of your identity, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. He could see the fear in your eyes, but also the aggressiveness, the spark of something wild and untamed that called to him like a siren's song.

"I am a witch, yes," you admitted in a hushed whisper, your heart pounding so hard you feared he could hear it. "But I speak the truth, your grace. I did not know anyone would be here."

You couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness as you spoke, the strong lines of his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin linen of his tunic. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting him to see the effect he was having on you.

"I'm from the coven called the Wives of the Gods Eye," you continued, voice barely above a whisper. "We practice the old ways, the magic that was once forbidden. I simply came here seeking some herbs."

You met his eyes once more, defiance mingling with the apprehension. "I meant you no harm, my lord. I swear it on my life."

"A witch of the old ways, are you?" he purred, his hand sliding up from your collarbone to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. "How very interesting. And here I thought Alys was the only one in this godforsaken castle who dabbled in the dark arts."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You say you seek herbs, little witch, but what say you to a bargain? Your secrets for my protection."

Daemon's hand slid down to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose grip. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

"I could use a witch of your talents in my service," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You stepped back, your hand brushing against the dagger beneath your skirts. "I am not some whore," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "I do not offer my services to any man, least of all one who would threaten me with a blade."

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with defiance. "You would be wise to let me leave at once, your grace. I have no quarrel with you, but I will not be cowed by threats or promises of power."

Turning on your heel, you strode to the shelves, your movements quick and precise. You grabbed a bottle of dried hemlock, the bitter scent filling your nostrils. You turned back to face him, the vial clutched in your hand like a weapon.

"I a daughter of the Gods Eye. I bow to no man, not even a prince of the realm."

You lifted your chin, your dark hair falling in waves around your face. "Now, I will ask you once more. Let me pass, or face the consequences of crossing a witch."

Your hand tightened on the hemlock, the glass cold against your skin. You could feel the rage thrumming through your veins.

"Choose wisely, your grace."

He had dealt with witches before and had watched as they danced and writhed beneath his touch. In pain and pleasure.

But this one was different. This one had a fire in her eyes that couldn't be tamed, a defiance that only fuelled his dark desires.

"A daughter of the Gods Eye, are you?" he growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "How very bold of you, little witch. To stand before a prince of the realm and threaten him with your petty magic."

He took a step forward, his eyes locked on the vial of hemlock clutched in your hand. "You think that trinket will save you? That your gods will protect you from the wrath of a dragon?"

Your breath hitched as Daemon closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming your senses. The threats rolling off his tongue made your head spin, a dizzying combination of fear and thrill coursing through your veins. You had never met a man who could match the fire in your blood, his very existence seems to challenge you at every turn.

Daemon's lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "I have seen the faces of men and women as they begged for mercy, only to be denied. And I have drunk the blood of my enemies, their cries of agony echoing in my ears like a symphony."

"I could hurt you," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I could crack you like this vial in my hand, leaving you a broken shell of the proud sorceress you once were."

"What do you want?" You gritted out through clenched teeth, hating the way your body reacted to his proximity. Your legs felt weak, your knees threatening to buckle as he loomed over you, his eyes burning into yours.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin at the challenge in your voice, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made your blood run cold. He could see the way your body trembled beneath his gaze, could feel the heat of your skin even from a distance.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He's just a man. Don't let him get under your skin.

But even as you tried to regain your composure, you could feel the power emanating from him like a physical force. It was intoxicating and dangerous, and you knew that if you weren't careful, you could easily lose yourself in the reckless temptation.

"What do I want?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Why, I want what all men want, little witch. Power. Control. To bend others to my will."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch searing your skin like a brand.

"But with you, I want something more," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to break you. To shatter that defiant spirit of yours and make you mine."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, could smell the musk of his scent, and for a moment, you were tempted to give in to the desire coursing through your veins.

But you were not some simpering maiden to be seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue.

Daemon's hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a loose grip.

"I could take you now," he growled, his lips brushing against your jawline. "I could pin you to the floor and claim you, make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

His other hand slid down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown. "But where's the fun in that? No, I'll take my time with you, little witch. I'll make you beg for my touch, for the sweet release only I can give you."

Daemon's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "So what will it be, my sweet? Will you submit to me willingly, or will I have to break you first?"

"You think you can break me?" You said, my voice steady and clear. "That you can tame my soul with your pretty words and your empty promises?"

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I have faced far worse than you, Daemon Targaryen. I have stared into the abyss and emerged unscathed. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling around the chain of the dragon necklace that hung from his neck. You could feel the heat of the metal against your skin, looking at him with a scowl on your face.

"But if you truly want to test yourself against me, my lord," you teased, your voice low and enchanting. "If you think you have what it takes to claim me as your own... by all means, try."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel the heat of your body against his, could smell the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating.

"You play a dangerous game, little witch," he purred, his hand tightening around your throat. "To challenge a dragon is to invite its wrath."

His other hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He could feel the heat of your body, could sense the power that coursed through your veins.

"But I like a woman with spirit," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "It makes the eventual submission all the sweeter."

Daemon's hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel your nipple harden beneath his touch, could see the way your body responded to his ministrations.

"I will have you, little witch," he growled, his voice low and seductive. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul. And when I am done with you, you will beg for more."

You roll your eyes at Daemon's sweet words, his attempts at seduction falling flat. He thinks he can have you with just a few pretty lies? How naive.

"You tempt me, my prince," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm no easy conquest. Besides, Alys will be back soon. I bet she won't be happy to see an old man taking advantage of her friend." You smirk cruelly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at your words.

You try to pull away from him, but his grip on your throat tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I could seriously hurt you, you know," you snarl, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't underestimate me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. In one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place.

"Enough of your games, little witch," he snarled, his hand tightening around your throat. "You think you can toy with me, challenge me, and walk away unscathed?"

His free hand slid down your body, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your gown with a sharp, ripping sound. Buttons scattered across the floor as he bared your skin to his hungry gaze.

Shock and fury flash through you as Daemon rips open your dress, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. You stare at him, completely still as a statue from utter disbelief, your breath coming in heavy gasps that make your breasts heave with each inhale.

"I will have you," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul."

Daemon's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, teasing your nipple into a hardened peak. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I can feel your desire, little witch," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Your body betrays you, even as you try to resist. I will make you mine, in every way possible."

"W-wait," you try to say, but your voice comes out breathy and weak as his fingers roll your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes roll back and a soft moan escapes your parted lips.

What is happening? How did this get so out of control? You think to yourself, your mind spinning from the onslaught of sensation. You can't believe this is happening, that you are letting a man you barely know take such liberties with your body.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the effect his touch was having on you, your body arching into his hand like a cat in heat. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his ministrations.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your ripped gown to caress the soft skin of your leg. He could feel the heat of your body.

"But first, I think I'll taste you," he growled, his hand sliding higher, higher until his fingers brushed against the slick, heated flesh of your core.

Even as you try to formulate a protest, your body betrays you, arching into his touch, craving more of the delicious pleasure he's igniting within you. No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop him.

But the words never leave your lips, lost in a moan as Daemon's hand slides lower, teasing you in places you have only touched in secret, in the dark of night. You are lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"That's it, little witch," he purred, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple. "Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself feel the ecstasy only I can give you."

He could feel the wetness of your arousal, could smell the musky scent of your desire.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind tries to deny it."

Daemon's fingers slid higher, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch. Your walls clenched around his fingers, begging for more.

You couldn't think straight, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. It was wrong to crave a man you had just met, especially one who had threatened your life moments ago. But the way his fingers teased your most intimate places sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You had heard the other women of your coven speak of lovemaking, their descriptions painting it as a powerful form of magic. Perhaps you could harness this power, and use it to your advantage as Daemon desired to use you for his own pleasure.

Your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, determined to maintain some facade of control. But deep down, you knew you were in danger of losing yourself to the sensations he was eliciting.

Daemon's eyes glinted with triumph as he felt your hips roll against his hand, your body betraying your true desires. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip to stifle your moans, and it only served to fuel his own dark lust.

"You can't hide from me, little witch," he growled, his fingers teasing your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you crave my touch."

He pressed two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening rhythm.

You let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Daemon's fingers delved deep into your untouched walls, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your juices flowed freely, coating his hand as ecstasy consumed your entire being.

Your body writhed against the cold stone wall, your hips bucking shamelessly against his skilled fingers as he finger-fucked you with reckless abandon. Waves of pleasure crashed over you with each thrust, your breasts heaving as he groped and kneaded them roughly.

"Your body is mine now," Daemon snarled, plunging his fingers deeper into your slick heat. He curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot within you that made your vision go white. "You'll scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll beg for my cock like a bitch in heat."

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity. Your cries of pleasure echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the lewd squelching sounds of his fingers pounding into your drenched cunt.

"That's it, take it," Daemon growled, his lips latching onto a pert nipple. He sucked hard, grazing the bud with his teeth as his fingers ruthlessly stroked your g-spot. "Come for me, little witch. Let me feel you spasm on my fingers."

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your body teetering on the brink of climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he sent you careening over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy filled the room as your pussy clenched down on his fingers, your release dripping down his fingers.

Daemon lapped at your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He continued pumping his fingers through your climax, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and mewling.

"Good girl," he purred, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers. He brought them to your lips, smearing your essence across them. "Clean them."

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. You hesitated only a moment before parting your lips, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth. The musky taste of your arousal coated your tongue, and you couldn't help but moan around his digits.

He grins wickedly as you lap at his fingers provocatively, cleaning your essence from them. As his fingers are clean, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before you, as to worship you.

You gasp as Daemon sinks to his knees before you, his dark eyes fuming with raw desire. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he settles between your trembling thighs. The heat of his breath on your most sensitive flesh sends electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

Dazed and off-balance, you instinctively reach out, fisting your hands in his hair for support. Your legs still feel like jelly from your earth-shattering climax moments before.

A bewildered expression crosses your face as he grins up at you, his tongue snaking out to drag along your dripping slit. You cry out, your head slamming back against the cold stone wall as ecstasy crashes over you in relentless waves.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Daemon purrs, his hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He laps at your essence like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to drink from your most intimate well.

You can only moan brokenly, your head thrashing from side to side as he feasts upon your quivering flesh. His tongue is pure sin, licking and suckling at your clit with unholy skill.

"Good girl," he growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. "Ride my face. Grind that pretty cunt against my tongue."

Lost to the all-consuming pleasure, you do as he commands, rolling your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as you fuck his face with feral ease.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping channel. They curl just right, stroking that secret spot within you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Daemon groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls.

You can only whimper in response, your body tensing as another climax builds at the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Daemon's tongue delved deep, lapping at your dripping essence with a hunger that bordered on feral. He groaned against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through your body.

He focused his attention on your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with rapid, teasing strokes. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. The public nature of your coupling only served to heighten the forbidden thrill, the rush of being taken in a place where anyone could stumble upon you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue as he brought you to the brink of climax once more.

With one final, hard suck, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the stone walls as your pussy clenched around his tongue, your release gushing into his eager mouth.

Daemon lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure as he drank down every last drop of your sweet nectar. He continued his ministrations until your body went limp, your cries turning to whimpers as the waves of pleasure subsided.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He stood, a wicked grin on his face as he towered over your prone form.

"You taste divine, little witch," he purred, his hand sliding up your body to cup your breast. He pinched your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. "I could feast on your cunt for hours and never grow tired."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

Lifting you up with ease, Daemon tosses you onto the creaky bed, your body bouncing on the worn mattress. You cry out in surprise, your heart pounding as you take in his towering form looming over you. His eyes burn with a hunger that gives you chills.

"Daemon, please," you plead, your voice trembling. Your core aches, still throbbing from the intense climaxes he's wrought from your untouched body. You are no experienced harlot, but an untouched maiden, and you fear you are not ready for the sheer size of him.

Daemon's large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he settles between your thighs.

Daemon's eyes raked over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you spread out before him like a feast. His cock throbbed with need, straining against the confines of his breeches as he drank in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds.

His hands moved with urgent purpose, his fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches. He shoved the garment down his legs, kicking it aside with a careless motion. His cock sprang free, the thick shaft jutting out proudly from a nest of dark curls.

He rubbed his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you with the promise of his hard length. You could feel it throbbing against your sensitive flesh, hot and hard and ready to claim you utterly.

"Please," you whimpered, your body trembling with need. "I... I've never... I don't know if I can take you."

A cruel smile twisted Daemon's lips as he heard your plea.

"Please be gentle," you whisper, looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Daemon's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something akin to tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip.

"Shh, little witch," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly mild. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, staking his claim over you.

As he kisses you deeply, you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he begins to push forward, stretching you open around his thick girth.

A sharp gasp escapes you, breaking the kiss as he breaches your barrier. Pain and pleasure mingle together, your untouched walls struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, his hands roaming your body possessively. "Such a perfect little cunt, made just for me."

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. The rhythm is brutal, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pain and pleasure crashed over you in equal measure. He stretched you wide, his thick length filling you in a way you never thought possible. Your walls stretched and clenched around him, your slick arousal easing the way as he claimed you over and over again.

"Fuck!" Daemon snarls, his eyes rolling back at the tight, wet heat of your virgin walls. 

Daemon sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with animalistic hunger. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he ruts into your willing body.

"Take it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless force.

The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his grunts as he took you, his cock sawing in and out of your dripping cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back, leaving red marks and bloody imprints.

Daemon's brutal thrusts tore through you, each one sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You screamed, your voice hoarse and ragged as he pounded into your virgin cunt. Tears streamed down your face, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

He had taken something sacred from you, your maidenhead, and you knew your souls were now tied. The ritual of first blood, unplanned as it was, had sealed your fates together. And with a dragon as your first, the power you could now wield...

You threw your head back, your moans echoing off the stone walls as he fucked you with complete disregard. Your hips bucked to meet his thrusts, the pain giving way to a pleasure you had never known before. You were lost to the sensation, your body consumed by the feel of him inside you.

Daemon's eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He could feel your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock like a vice as he claimed you over and over again.

He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing, leaving bruises in their wake.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock like the little slut you are. Fucking mine now, aren't you? Your cunt belongs to me."

You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet him as he drove into you over and over again. The bed groaned beneath you, the frame creaking threateningly as he took you with unrestrained lust.

You felt your peak nearing, your entire body on fire as Daemon pounded into you with unrestrained fury. You brought his neck to your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. The copper taste flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic as you licked the crimson liquid from your lips.

"Now you have bled for me too," you whispered ominously, your voice thick with lust and dark magic.

But before you could reach your peak, you quickly reached for your enchanted necklace, clutching it in your hand. The ancient magics within pulsed to life, amplifying the power of this ritual tenfold.

Power surged through you, your cunt squeezing tight around Daemon's cock as you came. Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Dark energy swirled around you, the air crackling with stifled energy.

"Mine," you whispered, your voice echoing with unexpected dominance. "You are mine now, Daemon Targaryen. Entwined by blood and pleasure."

Daemon's eyes flew open in surprise, his mouth falling open as he felt the surge of dark witchcraft. But it was too late - the ritual was complete.

Daemon froze, his cock buried deep inside your still-spasming cunt. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear.

He groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt clenched around him like a vice. The dark magic amplified every sensation, every touch, every thrust. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and he never wanted it to end.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained with anger and pleasure. "What did you do?"

But even as he asked, he knew. You had bound him to you, claimed him in a way that went beyond the physical.

He thrust into you one last time, his cock erupting deep inside you as he came.

He tried to pull out, to break the connection, but your walls clenched around him, refusing to let him go. Panic flashed across his face as he realized the implications of what you'd done.

"You... you she-devil," he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Did you plan this? To trick me, to bind me to you?"

You just grinned, a vicious, seductive curve of your lips. You could feel his fear, his anger, but beneath it all was a flicker of arousal. The power you now held over him was intoxicating.

"Shh," you cooed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "Don't fight it. We are one now."

You roll your hips, your walls clenching around his softening cock. He groans, his hips bucking unconsciously into yours.

You gasped as the obsidian stone of your necklace pulsed warmly against your throat. The maleficent force surged through your veins, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Yes!" You cried out, the power exhilarating in your veins.

Your eyes, nearly black now, held his gaze as you sneered cruelly.

Daemon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His softening cock slipped from your abused cunt, a trickle of his seed leaking out to pool on the tattered sheets beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still intertwined as you both tried to process what had just happened. The energy that had swirled around you during your climax still lingered in the air, making the hairs on Daemon's arms stand on end.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching your face. He looked confused as he took in your triumphant grin and the blackness of your eyes.

"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with malice. "I didn't do anything to you. I had no desire to harm you, as I stated before," you answered truthfully. "Did you know that the moment when one reaches orgasm is the most intense and the most powerful experience a human can have in life? For in that moment, the soul suddenly opens to the divine realm and the breath of God is infused. I needed another to reach divinity."

You rose from the bed, slipping your ripped dress back on and throwing a cloak over yourself. "I simply used you... as you have done to many women in your life, I'm sure. Do not fret, my prince," you smirked.

Daemon stared up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a hint of grudging admiration. He pushed himself up to sit, his naked body on full display as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Used me?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I've never been used like this before."

He stood, his cock already starting to harden again at the sight of you, despite his anger. He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to grab you, but he stopped himself.

"What are you?" he demanded, his eyes raking over your form. "What kind of witch are you?"

He snatched up his discarded breeches, roughly pulling them on, his mind reeling from the events of the past hour.

"I should kill you for this," he growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He knew he couldn't, not now. Not with the bond between you, however unexpected it may be.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked, rage clearly visible in his eyes.

You sauntered over to Daemon, your hips swaying seductively. The rip in your dress left little to the imagination, your full breasts on display for his hungry gaze. You could see the desire warring with the anger in his eyes as you approached.

"Nothing anymore, my prince," you purred, your voice like honey. "My powers have been amplified. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "Though I wouldn't mind having you take me again. I doubt I'll find another man as virile as you in all of Westeros."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You've awakened something in me, Daemon Targaryen. A hunger I never knew I could satisfy."

Your hand slid down his chest, your nails raking lightly over his skin. "I am yours. And I suspect you are mine as well."

You pulled back, your eyes locking with his. "What say you, my dragon?"

Daemon's breath hitched as you touched him, his body responding instantly to your proximity despite his anger. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise as he glared down at you.

He pulled you closer, his other hand gripping your hip. "You want to be taken again?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll fucking ruin you."

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Masterlist)

This is the masterlist/moodboard/summary for my new series called "Byka Atroksia". It's a story between Daemon Targaryen x reader (Vhaela Targaryen)

First of all: This story is based on the HBO/Max TV show House of the Dragon and the works of George R R Martin. I don't own any of the characters.

This story should only be read by people over 18 years as it contains adult content.

You can find the following themes in this story: HIGHLY detailed smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), kissing, dirty talk, losing of virginity, gagging, p in v, unprotected sex, period sex, praising, degrading, edging, overstimulating, blindfolding, some non-con choking, possessiveness, body image issues, angst, mentions of period and pregnancy, incest, inappropriate relationship between uncle and niece, power imbalance, dom!Daemon, inexperienced reader, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, morally questionable behaviour, abusive behaviour, sexual abuse (not performed by Daemon!)

Disclaimer: I am aware that the dynamic of this relationship is problematic as Vhaela's inferiority complexes cause her to search for Daemon's attention. So please be careful while reading this and have in mind that this kind of relationship is neither healthy nor desirable. Daemon is a bad person. His actions are irresponsible and unethical and he manipulates Vhaela. Don't try at home please.

Disclaimer 2.0: The G Spot: In this story I mention the g spot (even though the characters obviously don't know this term for it and what exactly it is) as a way for women to receive pleasure. I know that the existance of it is controversial and it's not scientifically proven that something similar exists. However, I still decided to include it in my story so my main character is able to receive pleasure by vaginal sex, but be aware that a lot of women don't get pleasure plainly by vaginal sex. I just don't want to portray a false image of what sex is supposed to be like so I felt the need to write a short paragraph about it.

Summary: Vhaela Targaryen is the younger sister to Rhaenyra Targaryen and has all her life felt like she was competing with her sister for their interesting and dangerous uncle's attention. In Vhaela's mind her beautiful and confident sister has already won this fight but when Daemon Targaryen returns from a battle at the Stepstones things seem to be a little different and she explores a whole new world of emotions.

Smut is marked with *

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 * (very light smut) Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 Chapter 5 * Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 * Chapter 26 (Final chapter)

[rhaenyrathecruell]

If they ruin daemon’s character in season two I’m gonna scream